Handschriftensachverständigungsvereinsvorsitzendenversammlungstagungsraum

In hindsight, I probably didn’t give a realistic account of what could be considered the greatest weekend of my life (also known as Oktoberfest). It was truly amazing – the food, the beer, the scummy drunken Aussies. I wish I could

Not knowing much about this ‘Germany’ fellow other than they are the world’s leading exporters of Bavarian beer, efficiency, and Jews, I decided to do a little research. I was pleased with what I found:

World War I

Also known as the Great Music Wars. Franz Ferdinand of Austria and the Kaiser Chiefs of Germany had an ongoing battle for world chart supremacy, decades of violence had gone on between the two rivals, so Franz Ferdinand released a single called “Take me out” which was an offer of peace, asking the Kaiser Chiefs to go out for a nice Bratwurst and a pint of beer with them and talk things over.

Unfortunately the Kaiser Chefs saw this single as a taunt on their military capability and athletic prowess and this ended in the unfortunate assassination of Franz Ferdinand. This resulted in the Great Music Wars of 1914 – 1918 and the defeat of the Kaiser Chiefs.

Germany was so taken with grief at the death of their leaders they called for Franz Ferdinand to have to sit in a small isolated room listening to non-stop playback of Kaiser Chief songs. After 3 days and 4 hours later Franz Ferdinand was found dead with his hands over his ears.
(Wikipedia, 2010)

On arriving to Germany, my fellow well-travelled passengers gave me various pieces of advice. One told me not to - under any occasion, even in solitary - do the nazi salute. (“What, this?” I asked inquisitively, lifting my arms up…before very suddenly being tackled to the ground) Another told me not to mention showers or yellow stars and I’d be fine.

Considering Germany a) boarders Turkey b) has towns named ‘Hamburg” and 'Frankfurt' c) is full of fat people, you could make some serious assumptions about the calibre and importance of food in Germany. And oh my cowboy boots, are those assumptions correct. Over the three blissful days of booze-filled fun, I indulged in sauerkraut, pork knuckles, huge pretzels, gingerbread, beigels, sandwiches, paninis, crepes, many a bratwurst (sausage), pimmels (chips), and probably a lot of other stuff that’s really bad for me but I can’t remember because I was distracted*.

The beer was also brewed to an exquisite standard. Of the 6 490 600 litres of beer which is consumed at Oktoberfest, I believe I consumed at least 12L of it. I can’t be too sure, but I reckon I tried Lowenbrau, Hoffbrau, the Bavarian wheat beer with a monk on the front, a Lowenbrau ‘radler’ (which is German for ‘shandy’, which is in turn slang for ‘pissweak’), Paulaner and Augustiner, while visiting about 6 of the 14 tents. Most of them had pretty cool traditional Bavarian decorations and entertainment all day long, and to keep you in form stopped every ten minutes or so to make everyone toast. The Oktoberfest toast is sung and goes “Ein Prosit, ein prosit’, then a long word which I could never pronounce so I just kind of hummed and faked it, and then you took a swig of your 1L stein. Of course, if you were playing drinking games on top of that your stein would empty even quicker, so you can see how it’s a vicious cycle. Yeah the steins are 1L each, they’re such a challenge. Everyone had stein-related bruises on their hands from holding the steins up to their mouths all day. I can hardly imagine what the poor beer wenches go through. But they get 20 000 Euros worth of tips for the two weeks, so it would be worth it. That’s incentive enough to learn German solely for that purpose. I’M KEEN.

So other than that, I haven’t been up to much. As soon as I got back I got into jobsearching (which for the record is quite difficult when you don’t have internet access or a printer) and have about 7 job possibilities so I’m not too worried at the moment. Poor, but not worried. In fact I was at a job interview on Friday, and I found the King’s College orientation day in a series of tunnels nearby. Tunnels. Open day. King’s College. Amazing. Oh yeah so if you find yourself signed up for King’s College Gynaecology Society, I will be in the opposite side of the earth giggling into a cupped hand and admiring my own hilarity.

So I decided to detox after Oktoberfest as I felt royally sheizenhousen after putting my body through that ordeal, however it hasn’t really worked out considering I’ve been out drinking for the past four nights. I’m going to take a break this week though and preserve my liver for next weekend which happens to be my birthday weekend! Oh how lovely! Yet simultaneously depressing, as nobody will know where to send their birthday packages they have for me**. I plan a bit of a bender which may or may not include drinking by the Camden canal, club NME at Koko’s, Barfly, Proud, happy hour at the cocktail bar, dancing on tables somewhere, NRL grand final at 7am Sunday, and the infamous once-in-a-lifetime journey to The Church. Come if you can!

*distracted being synonymous with ‘very drunk’

** Flat 56 Crowndale Court Camden NW1 1TY would be an option.

Das ist life, jah!

What do the words ‘unemployed’, ‘noninterventionist’, ‘abroad’ and ‘slightly magnetic’ have in common?

Other than a shitload of syllables, ME.

Once again, I’m unemployed and off to another country to indulge in the 200^th celebration of the wedding of Crown Prince Ludwig and some sheila via the four Greatest Gifts to Mankind: Malt, Hops, Yeast, and Water. I’m lugging myself into a coach (also known to the layman as a ‘bus’) to some small country town called Munich to freeze my plaits off, wear drindls, eat sausages and giant pretzels, and down one litre steins of Lowenbrau and my arch enemy Bavaria beer. With my extensive knowledge of the German language, wars, cuisine, and culture, I believe I will fare quite well, and there is definitely NO NEED* to check up on me this weekend. Repeat, NO NEED**.

And to disappoint all you sceptics who are brimming with impatience to shriek in my face with a big sneering grin ‘I TOLD YOU SO! I KNEW YOU’D FAIL!’, I didn’t get fired as such. In fact, I’ve never been fired as such. I’ve been alerted via text message to hand in my uniform, I’ve been informed that my role is no longer available, my fictitious three month trial period has been discontinued – and this time, there is simply no job for me when I return. So, as I learnt in my third ‘dismissal’, ‘London’s tough’ (a phrase containing the words “no” and “shit” comes to mind).

No use crying over spilt milk. Nod is as good as a wink to a blind man. It’s not worth a brass razoo, a cracker, a pinch of goat’s shit, a rat’s arse, a row of beans – tuppeneny or a two bob to get as toey as a Roman’s sandal, to crack the shits, to get as mad as a cut snake, a hornet, a maggot, a meat-axe! I’m onto bigger and better things. To get bleary-eyed, pickled, sauced, screwed, soused, sozzled, three sheets to the wind, under the affluence of incohol, pissed as a fart, a cricket, a newt, a parrot – as full as a bull’s bum, a fairy’s phonebox, a seaside shithouse on a bank holiday, a pommy complaint box…I’M GOING TO GET SHITFACED.

And what, you may be wondering, am I doing to ‘maintain homeostatis’ as I so gently phrase handling the mature responsibilities of paying rent and feeding myself? Well I have two interviews next week and have pestered many a pub and café on Camden High Street on my way home. I’m also writing for a music website (I’ll post it later) and looking into part time work and shit like that that Other People (who aren’t Me) do. What else have I been doing? Drinking! I had sweet shifts last week (work has been great, really) and managed many-a sneaky pint in with my various Londoner (well mostly Australian) friends who I’d love to name them all here but I’m momentarily distracted by the name “Smith”. Oh and my beloved Justine came down for a night! I won’t go into what mischief we got up to, not because it was one of those nights where I talk shit and would rather forget it, but because I simply can’t remember. Ah, the spirit and vigour of youth.

Well now my NI number has finally come through (meaning I get a whole 2 pounds off tax when I get paid) I am visiting my local GP until he (or she, I understand how this whole ‘feminism’ and ‘gender equality’ thing works) either finds something wrong with me or praises me for taking good care of myself. Either way, I’ll make a drinking game out of it. So, until I return from das land der bier und mein kampf with a head full of lead, 10kg heavier, and a great contempt for public toilets, auf weiderstein!

*As a sidenote, my number is 07583301557

**The dialling code from Australia may or may not begin with 00 and end with 11