I wrote this post a month or so ago but forgot to put it up…
(good example of the topic of this post)
I’ve not been in Leipzig for a few weeks now and I hear the snow has arrived, this morning I was watching a little breakfast TV at Annett’s, the first time, well, since the last time I was at Annett’s I guess since I don’t have a TV and even if I did at the time I normally get up it would be lunchtime TV instead. In Amsterdam they have BBC, so it was English breakfast news TV. I’m aware the English has a reputation for talking about the weather. I don’t want to wander into too many cultural clichés, but spend 15mins with my Dad, or spend 15mins watching English breakfast TV and they’ll be absolutely no doubt about our preoccupation with the sky, and what might or might not fall from it. It’s snowing in England now, they told me on the breakfast news, actually that’s all they told me again and again. England during snow is a hilarious place. We get snow pretty much every year, at least once. Not always lots, but at least once a year at some point. Yet we react as if, completely out of the blue our right leg would just fall off right now, onto the floor as if it were a snap on plastic Mr Potato head leg. It’s not as if one person reacts like this, collectively as a nation we are scramble to understand why our right leg just fell off, what it means, when it will stop, how we reattach it, what will happen to the left leg and most importantly who is to blame?!?!
This is the scene across the nation as people rush to stand by their windows and inform everybody that:
“It’s snowing. Look at that!”
“Oh, did you see, it’s snowing?”
“Did you see, yeah? Come look! Do you see that? Oh, now we’re in for it. Put the radio on, check if your school is closed there’s snow out there. I better go out and de-ice the car and clear the path, it’s snowing. Call all the relatives and warn them it’s snowing.”
“Mum, I think they have windows.”
“Just do it. You can never be too careful with snow.”
“Pop the TV on! Let’s see what they are saying about the snow.”
“Good morning from us here at Hello Sunshine, Good Morning England Breakfast TV and today our top story is – BRITAIN IN CHAOS. A nation is gripped in terror today after the latest attack of – from frozen weather. It’s too early to tell who is to blame, an early report citing that Al-Qaeda have taken credit for the attack have not yet been confirmed.
Earlier we found this old man wandering the streets looking for his dog and asked him what he thought” -
Roving Reporter: “Old man wandering the streets, what do you think about the snow?”
Old man: “What?”
Roving Reporter: “The snow, what do you think about the snow?”
Old man: “Say what now? Go? I was already going it was you who stopped me, moron.”
Roving Reporter: “T-H-E S-N-O-W!”
Old man: “Oh snow. Never seen anything like it. Worst snow I’ve seen since 1940. Did you see my dog?”
Roving Reporter: “Where did you see it last sir?”
Old man: “Well if I remembered that, it would probably not be lost would it?”
Roving Reporter: “Fair point. Back to the studio.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Welcome back, an update now on our main story reports are coming from a reliable sources stating this is the worst snow outbreak since 1940. People are warned to stay in their homes at all times. Do not let your pets outside as we are hearing reports of pet loss caused by, yes you guessed it – the snow outbreak.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Next up here on Hello sunshine, good morning England Breakfast TV a special report – SNOW – the silent killer! Since the snow epidemic began its reign of terror over England estimates predict approximately 60 elderly people have died.
We are joined by the BBC’s health correspondent Moira Blankard, Moira 60 direct deaths from the snow? Can you tell us more?”
Moira Blankard: “Yes you are correct, Mike. We have now heard suggestions that up to 60 elderly people have now died as a direct result of contracting what we are now calling Snow Flu. Snow Flu which is of course the latest deadly flu to trouble middle-class people with too much time on their hands, who watch too much TV, coming directly after the Avian Flu and Swine Flu epidemics.”
Studio news reporter 2: “So can you tell us how soon these 60 people died after contracting Snow Flu?”
Moira Blankard: “At this point Keith we are not exactly sure since the old people were already sadly dead when we found them.”
Studio news reporter 2: “But you can confirm they had this deadly new flu strand?“
Moira Blankard: “Not exactly, but if you look out of your window you’ll see that’s snowing, and these old people were found just recently, after the first snow reports across the country, suggesting a strong correlation between snow flu and death.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Do we know how the virus is spread?”
Moira Blankard: “Yes, Stuart, good question, it appears it can be contracted as a direct result of contact with snow, or being cold in general for too long.”
Studio news reporter 2: “How long is too long?”
Moira Blankard: “Difficult to say, for the elderly any amount of time can be too long, since they are elderly and a stiff breeze can be enough to knock them into the next life in some cases, they do make a habit of dying.”
Studio news reporter 2: “What advice are the government giving to people then Moira? What can we be doing to reduce the risk of infection?”
Moira Blankard: “Layers, Mark. Layers. We are hearing some reports that you should take the number of layers you would normally wear and then time that number by the square route of your age to get an indication how many layers you should be wearing during the snow pandemic.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Thanks for joining us today, Moira!”
Moira Blankard: “Pleasure”.
Studio news reporter 2: “Now let’s go to Abbie Walsh with the weather. Got any good news for us Abbie?”
Abbie Walsh: “Haha. Oh I wish Rob, but unfortunately not at the moment, ha ha. Hi everyone and it’s only bad news from me, I’m afraid, let’s take a look at our map of the UK here. You can see as we’ve been reporting earlier in the show – SNOW!! Snow here in the north, east, south and also reports of snow here in the west. We are unsure how long the snow will last, it’s because of this area of low pressure here somewhere, hard to see it because of the snow, but it’s around here somewhere which is pushing down that already low pressure and it just makes things lower and all that pressure results in the snow you can see here and no doubt out of your windows as well, ha ha. Please be extra careful and where possible avoid all unnecessary trips at this time, we do have reports that in an obscure place you’ve never heard of they are reporting up to 100cms of snow fall. So to recap – a chilly few days ahead, stay indoors, layers.
Over to your Richard.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Thanks Abbie, let’s cross now to our reporter out on the street, no doubt a very chilly street. I’m rather glad to be in here, ha ha, Mark Williams joins us and he is in Birmingham. Morning Mark, how is the weather there?”
Roving Reporter: “Snow Sam, snow here. Just take a look around for yourself. Same story here in Birmingham. I’m standing surrounded by cars simply abandoned here probably because of the snow. People simply getting out and leaving their cars, preferring to try their luck walking in these treacherous conditions.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Oh that’s terrible, where specifically in Birmingham are you Mark?”
Roving Reporter: “I’m in a car park, Jimmy.”
Studio news reporter 1: “In a car park, and if you’ve just joined us, by way of a recap – the UK is under siege by a Snow Pandemic, our roving reporter Sam stands surrounded by empty abandoned cars in a car park in Birmingham. Sam have you spoke to some of the local people in Birmingham, how are they coping?”
Roving Reporter: “Yes Phil, I’m actually joined now by a disgruntled man and an anxious woman.
Roving Reporter: “Disgruntled man, the snow, what are your thoughts?”
Disgruntled man: “Well I’m extremely disgruntled Sam, it’s chaos here in Birmingham. People unable to get to work, abandoned cars, dead old people, just a lot of disruption to normal routines. For example today is Tuesday, on Tuesday’s I like to hide in the woods near the High School and flash-sorry-monitor the girls there, you know to make sure they are safe from cyber bullying, anorexia etc. Couldn’t do that. School closed. Chaos. This is not life, is it? Just cut that middle bit out of the wotsit thingy, will ya?.”
Roving Reporter: “There you heard it from the horse’s mouth so to speak, ha ha ha, this disgruntled man reporting high levels of disgruntlement.
Now let’s turn to anxious woman, anxious woman, how are you coping?”
Anxious Woman: “Well, I’d just like to say that I’m extremely concerned and somewhat anxious about how we are going to get out of this situation. I personally blame the government, and foreigners.”
Roving Reporter: “You blame foreigners? What do they have to do with the snow?”
Anxious Woman: “Well, I’m not a racist, some of my best friends are 1/32 Irish after all, but I’m afraid Sam they are the straw that’s broken the proverbial camels back this time. Our transport system, heating, electricity systems, a nationwide network of service all pushed to breaking point at this time and would it be this way without all these foreigners here making demands of these services? Coming over here and taking our heating. I think, it’s the Governments fault for their lax immigration requirements. England for the English, heating for the cold, is that too much to ask Mr Prime Minister? Tell me that…”
Roving Reporter: “There you go, anxious woman and disgruntled man thanks for your thoughts. From a city in chaos, back to you in the studio Jack.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Thanks Sam. So you heard it here first foreigners – are they to blame for Snow Flu? We ask that question to the general public in our daily poll and the results are in:
13% voted: ‘Yes, probably.’
87% voted: ‘Joe McElderry’
Studio news reporter 1: “Well, certainly surprising and controversial votes there. Let’s get word direct from the government now as Will is joined by Health Minister Stuart Smythe-Jones.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Stuart welcome to the show.”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Good Morning Shamus. Pleasure to be here, thanks for having me.”
Studio news reporter 2: “So Stuart, the Snow terrorism, did the government see it coming and are they doing enough?”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Well, yes we certainly did have credible intelligence of such an attack and took preemptive action to minimize its effect.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Then why are we hearing reports of elderly people dying, pets lost, abandoned cars in car parks, layers?”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Well, perhaps we were a little surprised by the size of the attack but I have every confidence in local emergency services who will be diligently working to minimize any disruption. We have also secured emergency supplies of Snow Flu vaccine – Lemsip, which will be distributed to those most affected with immediate effect. We are also considering additional security checks at airports to minimize chances of another attack, we’re not sure exactly what to check yet, at this point it’s looking like maybe, the inner ear, reports suggest many WMD can fit in the average persons inner ear.”
Studio news reporter 2: “Thanks Stuart”
Stuart Smythe-Jones: “Pleasure.”
Studio news reporter 1: “Next up a recap of our main story before we go to Abbie with the weather.”
Snow Flu Pandemic – A nation mourns, elderly man still not found dog, our advice – layers….
Update: Good spot Alex, this video sums it up perfectly so should really be at the top to save you having to have read all that text, but its too late now.
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?”
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).
Its been a while since I stole 10 minutes of your employers time. So what have I been up to? Well I’ve had a pretty full calendar but my main project has been growing a beard. Is that really a project you might ask? Yes, I might tell you, okay, I will tell you, actually I just did tell you, pay attention please. You’ve been told.
To help put my achievement in context, lets take a moment to reflect on some of the truly great people who also had beards. The vaults of history are stuffed with outstanding people who like me now, have experienced the joy of having a portable face warmer.
You see growing a beard is much like cultivating a plant, in order to reach its full potential it needs love and attention. You should stroke it like one would stroke a dog, sing to it like one would sing to a baby. Many men try, but few men can succeed in growing something so traffic-stoppingly-ridiculous, so instantly-making-small-children-cry-visually-offensive that its worthy of being called a beard. I am just starting out on my long journey.
The interesting thing about beards is that they grow on you. HA!
I expect you think that’s the worst beard joke you’ve ever heard right? Wrong, I’m also going to throw at you – The funny thing about beards is that you become attached to them. HA! No double HA – HAHA!
I could carry on all day, but you know where I live and sometimes I don’t like that look you have in your eye, you know that ‘lets go to the roof and start shooting’ look, so I’ll stop.
I’ve never had a beard before. There are lots of things I’ve never done before so the fact that I hadn’t done this one didn’t automatically make it a looming priority. However the idea was loitering round at the back of my mind. It wasn’t high on my todo list, certainly not as high as say owning a gold toilet, or kicking an old person in the shin, more at the latter end of my Top 100 you might say. However, my little period of f-unemployment provided the perfect opportunity…
You see when you are in the working world its hard to grow a beard like this. Certain people can grow beards. By certain people I mean – fat people . They soften fat people up a treat, there’s a reason why every chubby Uncle has a beard. On him it says friendly dentist. On thin people like me, with likely but as yet unproven Jewish/Arabian roots beards it says public menace. Need proof? I live high on a mountain of it…..
Beardy Thin Personvs Beardy Fat Person
Now ask yourself, who from that gallery would you rather sit next to on the bus?
Everyone knows that wearing glasses makes you look smarter. It’s a fact and the sole reason I wear mine. Ordinarily I see better than an owl, on a mountain top with a telescope. But wearing glasses is an instant +10 on the perceived IQ scale, and so I wear glasses. This effect is not limited to just glasses though, there are several other items an individual can use to elevate their intellect right up there towards three figures. Here are my suggestions
So the big question is, can beards make you look smarter? No. Well, maybe. Ordinarily, no. But there are certain circumstances when, maybe.
For example twiddling your beard between your fingers, or stroking it attentively can give you an appearance of someone possessing a certain careful curiosity, comfortable and wise in pondering life’s big questions. However having a beard has had one possibly surprising discovery…women are attracted to beards.
I’ve never been gifted with women, they’ve usually observed me as one might observe gravity, acknowledged and present but not noteworthy. My previous compliment rate from the opposite sex has been
Years lived: 26
Compliments received from Women: 1 (hello again Mum, thanks again for sending me that Valentines card when I was 7, I still sleep with it under my pillow).
Yet in recent weeks a few more complements have rolled in much to my am/bemusement. It has to be the beard. I’m still as sucky as before, so nothing else has changed other than that I got a bit fatter on account of my only leaving the house on second Tuesdays that feature a number in the date considered lucky in at least two western cultures but excluding the number 7. So it could also be that.
But my moneys on the beard as that’s up top loud and proud like a facial flag of wonderous…?…ness. One look at my facial testosterone blanket and those ladies that don’t recoil in fear or run screaming “English Taliban, protect the children” are rendered powerless to resist. This doesn’t work on Annett of course, who looks at the beard like its something she accidentally trod in. In fact she disliked it so much she had to move 691kms away from it. But its her loss, I got something else to keep me warm on the lonely winter nights now. My lovely beard.
Unless you live under a rock, or only watch Fox News you’ll be aware that the wheel fell of the democracy cart on it’s way to market, in Iran this week. It turns out what they thought all this time had been the democracy cart was little more than the dictatorship wagon covered with a dodgy paint job. So writing this post in which I will reveal my extreme ignorance and disinterest in the entire political process is somewhat topical and um, stupid. Luckily stupidity and I got into bed together a long time ago and I’m very comfortable in his presence.
Let’s begin.
The last month has been a pretty shitty one, the majority of it I’ve spent in bed, in pain, in hospital or all three. I could write many blog posts about my experiences, which I know from reliving them with friends would be funny, everyone loves misfortune as long as it belongs to someone else and this month I was hogging more than fair share. I probably won’t write those posts because thinking about it all is depressing and I’m a chipper, the glass is not half full, why it’s positively overflowing, look great spurts of (what liquid is supposed to be in the glass in the half full/half empty metaphor? Water/Gin/Mountain Dew?!??! Has that every been clarified?) , great spurts of mystery liquid are spewing out, its become a fountain and now unicorns and small children have come to frolic in it – kind of guy.
My parents dropped by this week, I got a call from Mum saying that UPS were outside with a parcel she’d send and the UPS people didn’t know which flat to ring as our names are not on the bell, could I go down a let them in. When I got down there I opened the door to find my Mum and Dad on the doorstep. My first thought was why are UPS sending two people to the door with the package? That’s not very efficient staff usage. Secondly why have UPS employed my parents? Mum is far too nosey to not open an interesting looking parcel and Dad hates driving on the right-hand side of the road. It turned our there was no package, I had been cheated. However when I tried to close the door on the UPS employee imposters they refused to leave citing parental privileges. I’d been careful to only give my address to select people to stop riff raff like these two arriving at my door, it turned out Annett had given it to them which is hardly a surprise. I get nervous every time we’re at the Airport because Annett is the sort of person who under even the lightest of question would confess us for a crime we haven’t committed. Ironic as being German she’s never actually broken a rule in her whole life, still she cracks under even the slightest questioning, it wouldn’t take the Stasi or anyone for that matter very long to get her secrets:
Man on street: Guten Tag!
Annett: I can’t tell you. He told me not to.
Man on street: Entschuldigung?!
Annett: Oh okay already don’t look at me like that, I can’t be burdened with this anymore. I’ll tell you what you want, I’ll tell you all of it, all the lies the secrets. He owes the NZ library service $4! Phew, it’s better to have that off my chest. Guten Tag.
I got my own back on the visiting riff raff by having had the foresight not to clean the toilet for several weeks (dirt is Mums kryptonite). She acted unphased and only the facial tick on one side of her face gave away the pain she felt inside.
With visitors comes hosting responsibilities, so I started leaving the flat again and being more mobile than I had the last few weeks. It was refreshing to get out of the flat and see what was going on in this inferior real world that everyone keeps banging on about.
It turns out there’s an election going on in Leipzig, and also some bigger Government parliament election thing for something call the “EU”. I don’t know the specifics, I’m English so we leave Europe to the Europeans to worry about.
A long time ago I freed myself from worrying about the trivialities of politics, you know the – issues, ideas, wings, principals, promises of the politicians both in power and vying for it. I think maybe it’s because I never really lived anywhere I had any great affinity for, somewhere that I would really call home and so my interest in future was passing at best, as that was all I was doing. Now with Leipzig being a place that feels warm and homely it’s time for me to make my vote count!
I think I did vote once at my University for some kind of election, I voted for the person with the funniest name in each category, was a good day to be Sarah Koch, one of the few I bet. I understand the importance of voting, I have just sort of ignored it. I’ve always figured that when whatever country I’m in really needs me to vote, they’ll flick on the bat light or something. Only it will be a caricature of my face, and I’ll see it from my secret lair and come out and realize that now I must care. I’ll make a lot to learn about the politicians, understand the problems facing the next government, make an informed decision and head to the polling station where I’ll vote for the person with the funniest name.
Having unburdened myself from actually having to care about the politics of politics, I’m free to focus on what really matters – what the candidate looks like!
Luckily I got a good look at them as they’d thoughtfully put up pictures of themselves all over the city. Presumably so I and like minded fellow citizens could draw moustaches and cheeky goatees on their faces on the way home from the pub.
I really want to pick the right candidate to receive my vote (I’m eligible to vote here), so I’ve spent extensive time studying the faces of the candidates, you might not have that much time so I’ll summarize them down for you:
Dieter Deissler, Now that’s an expression to be proud of, it’s equal parts cocksure and utterly confused, a mixture of “what’s for dinner honey” and “who’s shit on my shoes”?
Franz Taraschka. What’s going on here Franz? Trying to be a big shot? “No mum I can’t talk right now, got to get my photo taken for the paper, yeah I’ll be round for dinner later”.
Do you think you’re a real go to man because your talking on the phone whilst bicycling? Does a bicycle show you a commoner like the rest of us? Well, all it shows me is that you, Sir, are a health and safety violator! Mobile phones should not be used during the operation of a bicycle.
Thomas Zeitler. I know what you’re thinking – I’ve seen this man before. You’re right to think that, you have seen this man before he’s none other than the bastard love child of
Dr Evil & an egg…
Look at his perfect conical dome! I just want to get out a little teaspoon and whack the side of a few times. I’m finding it hard not to do Egg puns here, so I’ll just done one to end my review of Eggy, I wouldn’t vote for him because I’m concerned he might crack under the pressure!
Mathias Weber.
Mathias: Dad, dad can I borrow the car again this weekend?
No son, you remember what happened last time, when you went to a party got high on ‘shrooms drove home and crashed it into the neighbours cow.
Mathias: That was an isolated incident, and like weeks ago now, can’t you just let it go?
I’ll let it go, when you get a haircut and a job you scruffy little delinquent. Why are you holding a notepad?
Mathias: I’m not sure, its just something I’m trying out, I think maybe it makes me look more intelligent.
You look like a work experience waiter. Put it down.
Mathias: Can you lend me a fiver?
Can Chimpanzees fart the national anthem?
Ingo Sasama. Ingo?! I-N-G-O hang on wasn’t that the guy that stole that baby in Australia? Oh no wait that was someone else.
People who have facial hair are 97% more likely to be good people than people without facial hair. This is an established fact. Facial hair = good. People with facial hair = better.
Check out Ingo’s proud maine, full yet groomed like a lovable uncle. Uncle Ingo. Now we’re getting somewhere.
I’m sure if the whole world just voted for the person with the best facial hair we’d see no war, we’d see no famine – where a beard leads, happiness follows.
Clearly the greatest thing about Manfred is his name – Manfred. It’s genius. Manfred, say it now – M-a-n-f-r-e-d, feels good doesn’t it? I’ve long been searching for a name for my first born son, a search I can now officially call off.
Ulrich took the afternoon off from playing World of Warcraft to come outside for this photo. He found the walk up from his basement tiring. The direct sunlight sharper and more intense on his pasty skin than that found in the MMRPG Runescape Neverwinter Lifenights where he is a level 53 warlock.
Brigitte travelled back from the year 2090 in the DeLorean. Despite being an Android her mimicry of human emotion and expression are almost faultless , thanks to her long study of various Evil Headmistresses from TV and film – the only thing we she can’t get right – the subtle arc of the human eyebrow.
I guess you know who my vote will go to – that nice man (with the beard) Ingo Sasama congratulations you are Germany’s next top political model! Well unless a late entrant called manfred fuchs joins, in which case all bets are off.
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.
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.
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”
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.
We used to have a very nice house in New Zealand. It was in a very nice area, near a very nice road which had shops and cafés and it was all very nice and civilized. Which was nice. Near those cafés was a corner shop, just a few minutes walk from our house. Once I learnt they sold Dr Pepper, which wasn’t that common in NZ I was there on almost a daily basis.
I’m a naturally friendly person, so I guess I’m reasonably good at talking to people. Over time (and Dr Pepper purchases), the Indian owner of this shop and me formed a sort of quasi-friendship. Only quasi because he never knew my name, I never knew his, but in certain areas of our lives we knew each other intimately. I knew that he had two children, and uncle, a wife, and as it would become our de-facto conversation topic that – he hated his job.
‘”I’m here always working, morning to night, every day, seven days a week, always working” he would say in a dreary shoot me nowsort of tone.
“Oh dear, yeah that is tough” I’d respond thumbing the change in my pocket. “I have no-one to cover me, my uncle he has a shop but that makes nice money, this shop doesn’t.”
“Sorry to hear that I’d say” meekly rooting around for some positivity I could inject into the conversation – “but you’re your own boss, that’s got to count for something right? I mean you’re building something and if it successful 100% of that success if yours.” Okay, so while I’m not exactly a life coach of some note, I was proud of this uplifting response.
“100% hahaha try telling my wife that. And it’s not successful my friend.” Damn, shut down again.
“Have you thought about employing someone else to run the shop?” I’m clutching at straws here, of course he has.
“I could but it costs too much I wouldn’t make any money. Sometimes my wife she runs the shop or my uncle will cover me for a little while but if not it’s just me my friend, working day after day.“
I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to do now. Can I help? Should I buy more or less Dr Pepper?
Then we’d talk about what I did, which I don’t think he ever understood, but then no-one does so I just left it as IT stuff and tried to make it sound about as much fun as a being an unwilling participant in a prison gangbang, so he didn’t get jealous. This was how it used to go when I came in the shop, first some light hearted banter about the weather, maybe the youth of today, how close the weekend was but then when I’d least expect it he’d skillfully dodge the conversation back to his being stuck in his shop, day after day.
“I think you want what I have, and I want what you have” he used to say sometimes. I’d smile and nod and say “yeah maybe, such is life, the grass is always greener” but I would be thinking – err yeah about as much as I want a grand piano to drop from the sky and smash on my head the next time I come out of the house to innocently buy Dr Pepper and Cadburys buttons. Although hang on, maybe I’m being hasty, you do have very commendable head hair growth…
After a while I started to avoid the shop, if we were walking by I’d send Annett in. I think people know not to go to Germans for sympathy, I always thought it was just one of those unwritten rules like don’t lick lightbulbs. German truths do not come sugar coated.
Eventually I found another shop about 3 or 4 minutes walk further on with a Chinese dude who judging by his body language also hated his life, but didn’t feel the need to verbalize it. I was sure to never make eye contact anymore than absolutely necessary just in case. He probably thought I was a mute. I was actually just a Dr Pepper fiend happy in my little optimist bubble where every day I’m the guest of honour at an earth sized carnival, that people keep trying to rain on.
I started this about a strange German man I met today when I buy a SIM card, but it reminded me of this man, so I’ll do the German man as part 2.
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Thanks for stopping by and sharing in some of my experiences from the memorable to the mundane.
I'm now living in Berlin, Germany and mostly working on The Hipstery.
