The Staring Contest

Are you good at staring? Are you single? If the answer to these two questions is yes, then you will be successful on the dating scene in Germany or rather, Munich. Dating is definitely different here in more ways than one. I for one, am not adjusting well.

I recently heard a friend describe the UK University 'dating' scene to me like this: "Well, it gets to around midnight and then its as if everyone has been injected with something and is clamouring to get with anyone and everyone, not wanting to go home alone. I mean, they just walk up to someone and grab them!" *cue shock and disgust* Unfortunately, I couldn't really correct her on this. It is for the most part, true. I'm not saying that I am proud of this and I definitely wasn't one of the 'midnight lurchers' (well, maybe excluding nights when I was at Top Banana on a Monday and pints of Purple were only a pound...kidding!), but a milder version of this would be preferable to the German way of doing things.

It all comes back down to their favourite side-activity: staring. When I was in London for one night, I was approached by several guys throughout the night wanting to chat and buy me a drink – *cue reader thinking what a smug and arrogant little wotsit thinking she is God's gift to men* – I can assure you I am most definitely not, but men are more forward from the Isle and at least give it a little bit of effort. They understand the beauty of the chase. They know that if they don't make a move, they are going to miss out. Munich men? They will sit like an unmovable stone and stare at you all night, undressing you with their eyes, and still won't do ANYTHING about it. It's not like I want them to lavish me with drinks and attention, but a simple"Hallo" would make things much less awkward. I once sat opposite some guys with my friends in a bar and they literally stared the whole night – which was more offputting than flattering. They didn't speak for the whole time we were there. Then we leave, 3 hours later, and they say 'Bye girls, shame you are going already!". "Bye"? "Bye"?! How about starting with "Hi!" 3 hours ago when I was vaguely interested, rather than trying to talk when I'm walking out the door. I just don't understand this at all. If this was a wildlife programme, the species would have died out by now: *cue wildlife presenter voice* "The male, intimidated by the female, holds back and watches her from afar, trying to determine her next move. Meanwhile, the female appears to be becoming agitated. This is an exciting moment, it looks like the male is slowly starting to approach and we are going to witness the magical moment of meeting out here in the harsh environment of the German wilderness ...oh...no...wait...the male appears to have been startled and has ran back into the bushes again".

Then you have got the other approach in the club: the 4 hour stare, followed by edging closer bit by bit in a completely obvious way. They though, think they are totally slick and are reeling me in by the second with their sexy smooth moves – they couldn't be more wrong (particularly because a pensioner could bust better moves than they can). As Queen Vic would have said 'We are not amused'. It's like they have taken tips from black and white films – come into the 21st century, pretty please?

Then there is the 'let's be friends' kind of courting (basically staring with a little chatting). One of my friends has been here years and told me this technique: they like to be friends with you for at least 4 years before they will even consider anything else. Didn't they watch Scrubs? Hurry up or you are going to miss the window and be forever in the 'friend zone'!

A few weeks ago though, I was pleasantly surprised. I had left my friend at the bar and then I had come back to find her with a a guy chatting avidly. This, in the Munich world, is shocking. Upon my arrival though, the mystery was soon unravelled. He was Italian and called Mateo (not in any way a cliché...). After struggling to speak to my friend in English, he turned his attention to talking to me in German. Here's the best bit of all though. Pointing at me, my friend and himself he goes on to say: "One, two, three – we could have a good night together yes? *creepy raised eyebrow*".

On second thoughts maybe the German guy staring isn't so bad after all...

For the love of...leather?

Leather has a kind of cult following on the continent. They really do love it, perhaps one might say, a little too much. When I lived in France the black leather jacket was the epitome of cool amongst 13-17 year old girls. I wasn't living in Paris either, just the pretty suburbs surrounding Carcassonne in the south of the country – but leather was still making its mark. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of leather too, but I'm tiring a little of the 'leather look' being sported by pretty much everyone – I find myself longing for a little East-London cool where fashion would be mixed up a bit.

Here in Germany, leather remains a core staple amidst teenage and twenty something girls. Perfectly boy-shaped, they strut the style with ease, matched with tight fitting trousers that would give me a hernia if I wore them. Envious? Me? Never. The thing is though, the temperatures have suddenly risen in Germany to a sultry 25 degrees from...well..the Tundra. Yet, despite the increase, the leather stays stuck to the skin of absolutely everyone! WHY? How are they not dying? If I was wearing a leather jacket and leather trousers in 25 degrees then my own profusion of sweat would have melted and moulded them onto my body for all time – I would be forever known as the 'leather lady', or, well, something like that. The question is though, why are they defiantly wearing them in these tempartures? Is it more than a style statement? Is it a status statement? I'm starting to think so. If it is, I'm definitely not belonging to this upper echelon of leather cool – poor me, I'm so unfortunate being oh so nice and cool in my floaty skirt that doesn't create sweat beads.

There is an important part of the leather culture though that I have left out until now. That is the mid-life crisis leather. Let me tell you now, sporting a James Dean style leather-look over a certain age doesn't scream sexy, it cries 'Crisis!', no matter how loud the song 'Daddy Cool' is playing in your head as you strut along the street. Believe me, the German 30-40 year old guys wearing these jackets really are strutting, I actually witnessed one guy on the U Bahn in his shirt looking sensible (definitely not the type who should lean towards a leather purchase) and then once he gets off, he swings on a leather jacket and starts to add a little swagger to his walk. Oh dear, oh dear oh dear. Now, don't misunderstand me, there are definitely some over thirties and daddies out there who can rock this look and make even me go weak at the knees, but in general it should be avoided – yet German guys think a leather purchase is their ticket to Cool Kingdom, or something. Here is my plea to German guys everywhere: "Put the leather...DOWN!" Seriously. Go for duffle instead. In fact, go for anything instead. Unless you are 25, play in a band and have a cigarette hanging from your hand in a nonchalent kind of way, then the tanned goods aren't for you.

I have to say though, the more you live in a place, the more you start to tip toe towards following their trends. Upon a few occassions I have had the urge to follow through and become part of the leather pretty possy. Am I becoming a German? Here is a picture of me on the right, sticking to my guns and not giving in to the Lord of Leather that rules this city *ahem*.

On another terrifying note, I have been informed that Denim is going to be the material of the moment this summer. This is fine, when handled by those with a little know-how. The Germans? No doubt they will be sporting the double denim look in no time at all *shudder*, probably with socks and sandles on their feet for good measure *sigh*. It's going to be like stepping back into the 90s...and not in a good way..."Ah oh, ah oh"...oh no. 

Kaiserschmarrn Classics

Believe it or not, I had a blog at 16. I know, what on earth did I have to write about at 16? It was back in the days when Myspace was cool (and ‘Facebook’ was just some ‘boring looking wall thing that your older sibling spent too much time on’) and when the song you chose for your profile was of the upmost importance – as it would define who you truly were to the world (or something like that). I had completely forgot about my first blog, but when sifting through my computer and deleting old files I stumbled across one entry. Often it feels like the thoughts and feelings we have when we are younger are no longer relevant as we grow older and gain more experience in the big, wide world. This entry, however, proved me wrong. It made me want to sit down, pull up a chair and have a cup of tea with my 16-year-old self and pick her brain, as she was evidently wiser than I am now. Really, this diary-style entry couldn’t relate to my life any better than in these older years, living in a foreign country and starting anew (cheers to that!).

So, I thought I would share my 16 year old thoughts with you all:

I was sitting listening to my music and then a thought struck me: what really is ‘moving on’? Sometimes moving on can be a positive thing...moving onwards and upwards...like that song "Moving on up" but sometimes, it can be a word people use as a way of covering up the fact that something they didn't want to happen has happened. Like the disintegration of a friendship. Like the breakdown of a relationship. It seems to vary from person to person on how the term ‘moving on’ is handled. For some, it's closing the book...putting it down...and beginning a new one. For others, it's merely turning the page onto a new chapter and allowing the threads from the plot in the previous chapter to resurface later 

on in the novel that is life, to result in a perfectly rounded ending.


I'm definitely a chapter person, I feel that to close off part of your life forever is to deny the possibility of change and rids your life of that unpredictability that we are all living for. To shut people and indeed, events, out of your life is sometimes necessary but I think we always need to be ready for that moment when they reappear. Maybe what we should really be asking is: is it ever really possible to completely ‘move on’? First words, first jobs and critically, first loves. We all move away and ‘on’ from these ‘firsts’: our vocabulary widens, our job maps out into a career and our first love leads onto new loves and indeed, lovers. However, these ‘firsts’ have a significant impact on our lives and therefore, surely form part of who we are?

So, maybe when someone says it's time to ‘move on’, the response is as simple as this: "I have moved on, I am moving on and, I will move on"

Krapfen Karma

Oh Krapfen – the temptation of the Devil. I'm sure Jesus' 40 day and night stint in the desert as described in The Bible isn't the whole truth. I'm pretty confident he wasn't in the desert at all but, in actual fact, was forced to stand in front of a German bakery during Fasching (Carnival) Season – the ultimate temptation.

To those that don't know, Krapfen are a kind of doughnut (without the hole) that are everywhere during the Carnival season in Munich in the run up to Lent and Easter. Here, there, everywhere – they are inescapable. Flavours range from the traditional apricot to more exotic offerings with mango, nougat and chocolate moose. Although I failed to find them this year, I have also heard of the elusive Krapfen that are sold with syringes. Syringes? Yes, we have all turned into jam-injecting junkies. No, seriously – you get a syringe, or more than one, that contain different flavours and then you can fill your Krapfen with as much or as little as you desire. Creative Krapfen – love it.

I definitely over-indulged this season, with my all-time favourite filling being apricot and mango, with a yummy glaze on top (*pauses writing to salivate a little*).

There is definitely a kind of Krapfen Karma out there though. It can be touch and go as to how much filling you get, depending on where you buy them. The other day I had gotten three quarters of the way through my Krapfen and still hadn't found the filling. In frustration I marched to the kitchen and spread some strawberry jam on the remaining part…only to then once I had done so, find upon my final bite, that it did indeed, have apricot inside. Apricot and strawberry is definitely not the best combination and results in a sugar trip with trembling of sweet teeth – Krapfen Karma #1. Lesson? Always believe in the Krapfen.

The second kind of karma was experienced in the office. We even had a Krapfen eating event one afternoon, indulging in the sugary, doughy delights with prosecco (I know,German offices are great right?). The thing is, the piles of Krapfen were being set up opposite my office for about 2 hours beforehand. The sweet smell became sickly pretty quickly. I had also already eaten a Krapfen the previous evening(trying my best to taste all of the flavours before the Krapfen disappear after Carnival Tuesday), which meant my Krapfen appetite was already satisfied. Result? Forcing down a Krapfen, because I had already eaten far too many already, rather than rejoicing in its glory and savouring every bite – KrapfenKarma #2. Lesson? Pace yourself.

Wouldn't it be great though, if Krapfen also had positive Karma?Like…the more you eat, the more happiness comes into your life. If so, I definitely deserve the title :"The Happiest Krapfen Queen on Earth".

Toasters and Showers.

I know what you are thinking: "what can she possibly have to say about toasters and showers? Mere electrical appliances surely aren't worthy of any kind of attention, they are the same the world over!" Halt. Let me just stop you right there. They most definitely aren't the same the world over. Oh no. Toaster and shower situations (not both at the same time) have induced great trauma to me at times (not of the electrical shock kind…that's reserved for German electrical fences…but that's a whole other story).

Let's start with the shower sadness. Yes, sadness. Mixed with confusion. As a British lass I am used to a shower (when placed over a bath) to be attached to the back wall – i.e. facing the length of the bath. To me this makes absolute perfect sense for many reasons:

1. The water doesn't go everywhere

2. I have room to stretch my arm out as I sing into my loofah microphone

3. The water doesn't go everywhere

4. I have plenty of room to dance around whilst listening to NRJ on my shower radio

5. The water DEFINITELY doesn't go everywhere

6. The shower/bath screen doesn't get soaking wet – which means a lot less cleaning effort

7. If someone accidentally bursts in to my apartment for emergency water repairs whilst I am in said shower, they won't get a full frontal view at first sight.

8. Oh, and of course, the water DOES NOT go everywhere and my bathroom isn't turned into a lake that could rival the Olympic diving pool.

The Germans are usually such logical creatures, but when it comes to attaching bathroom apparatus they fail miserably. Maybe all the bathroom fitters are on cannabis? *Takes a puff* "Hee hee hee! Hans, here's a great plan, let's put the shower on the wrong wall and let the whole place get wet every time they shower! Hee hee hee! I'm so funny and clever and great at practical jokes! Hee hee hee! Hey Hans, is that a water fairy over there?" *takes another puff*. That's the only way I can explain why they decide to attach the shower on the long sidewall - facing the bath screen. Why oh why oh why? It makes absolutely no sense.

At an open apartment viewing (a whole other experience to go into) I was walking around a beautiful new build place with all the mod cons, then I stepped into the bathroom and saw the shower and my heart sank. Not even modern builds are adopting modern bathroom sense? I heard a slight sigh next to me and turned round. It was a guy looking as disappointed as I felt. 'English?", I said. "How did you know?", he said. "Your look of utter disappointment at the bathroom shower". At which point he too, launched into a huge rant about it. It really does disturb us British – it makes us feel like the whole German world has gone mad with this decision. Whatever next?

Well…it get's worse. The appliance hell doesn't end there. Toasters. In England toasters are a beloved, if not sacred, object. Tea and toast. Tea and crumpets (if you don't know what these are, you are missing out). Tea and pancakes. Tea and toasted teacakes. Ok, I know it's a lot of tea drinking, but you get my point. The toaster is part of our daily tea drinking and toast loving British lives. To the Germans, toasters are entirely disposable.

So far, in all the houses and apartments I have been in Germany, there has barely ever been a toaster in sight. If there has been, it has been covered, dusty, under a pile of newspapers and empty bakery bags (no joke). It's traumatic. The Germans just don't do toast. They don't understand the concept. They are all about the Vollkorn bread and the Breze, but toast? Oh no, thank you. To the British, toast and bread are almost like two entirely separate entities. German's definitely don't differentiate the two. I once asked for toast and a German said "What? You mean toast bread?". Erm what? Toast bread? I mean, yes I understand what they are getting at, toast is essentially toasted bread. But still, the name repulsed every British bone in my body. I wanted to scream : " No! I want bloody TOAST! Not TOAST BREAD! And if you are going to insist on referring to its toasted state, then say TOASTED BREAD!". *breathe*. The thing is though, it's not just that, they class "Toast bread" as a totally separate sort of bread. Bread as we British know it, the sandwich style with crusts on by good ol' Hovis or Warburtons, just doesn't exist here. When you do find it, it's called "American sandwich bread". I'm not sure which term enrages me more, "toast bread" or "American sandwich bread". I feel like setting up my own brand of "toast bread" and calling it "bread loaf", just to prove a point. There's an idea. There's also confusion over what constitutes a toaster. Germans seem to think that you can make breakfast toast with a sandwich toaster. This is sacrilege. Of course you can't. A sandwich toaster is there to be used for cheese and ham toasties ONLY. It's a delicate art to understand, obviously.

The holy grail of appliance differences has also been discovered though. It's not all doom and gloom…oh no. Everyone, kneel down and praise the glory of: the mixer tap. Every apartment, no matter how big or small, old or new, has mixer taps as standard. Long gone are the days of standing in a British bathroom desperately trying to reach optimum temperature by splashing some of the ice cold freezing water from one tap into you cupped hands and then adding a smidge of boiling hot water from the other one – and then spashing it onto your face and realising that despite your efforts you added too much cold water and just froze your face off. No, no, the German's are having none of that palaver. Good ol' mixing taps – a true wonder of the modern world. I bet the Germans feel like they have gone back into the dark ages when they cross the channel and are faced by two taps at the sink. No doubt the German husband calls to his wife: "Steffi, vvvvhy are there two taps? Vot do I do vith the second one?" No doubt the mysterious tap system perplexes them for the duration of their visit.

The question is though, are the mixer taps worth the trade off for toasters and well-positioned shower heads? Never. Long live toasters, crumpets and the Queen.

Are you looking at me punk?!

Welcome to Germany. Welcome to the world of the continual staring contest. Maybe it's an exaggeration, but for me, it always seems that someone, somewhere in Munich is staring at me. Soon I am going to develop an image complex. Am I going out with chocolate on my face? Lipstick on my teeth? My knickers twisted? I sure hope not, but that's definitely how the Germans make you feel with their continual onslaught of intrigue that is painted so heavily on their otherwise innocent faces (always encased with long, flowing blonde locks).

In England it's definitely a heads down affair on the underground and pretty much anywhere else. Maybe for fear that if you do actually look at someone even in an innocent, indeliberate way, they will start on you. I like to think though, that other than the fear of being pounced upon, the English don't openly stare at people in the street and on the tube because…well…they have manners. The Germans don't have such things engrained into their being like the English do. I think for the English it's a birthright - you inherit manners, a tea-drinking and biscuit dunking obsession, a continual lust for bacon and an anti-jeans wearing policy before you have even fully formed in the womb. The English would NEVER stare the way the German's do. If someone did stare at us like that, we would meet them with an aggressive: "What you lookin' at mate?" or "Problem missy?". Here, in the realms of the Fatherland, it's an accepted part of culture.

So why, are the German's staring so much? Is it me? Am I THAT interesting / weird to them? For a long while I thought it was, but the truth is, the Germans are just nosey. The way politeness is a part of who the English are, nosiness is a part of the German make-up. It doesn't necessarily have to be a negative, malicious thing but they definitely do want to know or find out what is going on when they don't have all the facts. Maybe that's it, the German lust for information and facts to expand their knowledge and increase efficiency? Quite possibly. Sometime though it's just PLAIN nosiness. This spans the generations too and isn't discouraged by elders. Like, for example, when I was carrying a TV on the U Bahn…EVERYONE was staring at me. Including a father and his son who had a full blown conversation about my TV whilst standing next to me: " What make is it?", "I'm not sure son, I can't see past the girl carrying it", "Oh it's Samsung", "Sony is better". In ten minutes I had heard all of their opinions on my brand new TV, all the while with both of them staring right at me and my purchase. No shame! In England we are the experts, at least, of talking in hushed voices when we are talking about someone nearby to us. Sneaky? Maybe. A little more polite than loudly discussing every detail of the staring object? Most definitely.

Staring session number two: I was eating a pretzel and drinking a can of coke on the U Bahn. The amount of disapproving stares I got was off the scale. Ok, I admit, not the healthiest of choices, but I was hungry and feeling under the weather and needed sugar fast. Ok, I also admit that the bag the pretzel was in was waaaaaay too big for the pretzel in an almost comical way, but that's not my fault. I NEVER stare at the morning meatloaf sandwich munchers stinking out the whole S Bahn do I? No. Of course not.

Staring session number three: the changing rooms at the gym. Now, this, is the weirdest of them all. They are all women too, so what's the deal? I'm sure this is a competitive ego thing for sure. Seeing who has the least cellulite and the best undies. I've already told you that the German's love to strut their stuff in the changing rooms, so the staring that accompanies this should now come as no surprise to you.

Staring session number four: staring at police station posters. This is the height of nosiness. Never before have I seen someone so intrigued as to who the latest bad guy on the run is that they actually ascend the police station steps to take a look and peer avidly at the mugshot poster. It can only be one of three things: extreme nosiness, a fear of the world, or…they are on the run themselves and are hoping the police haven't wised up to their illegal wanderings. Hopefully not the latter – they were fairly close to my home…*gulp*.

Staring number five: the intimidation stare. Now, this is something new. I only experienced it today for the first time at the gym. Two women aged 60 or so, came into the running machine part of the gym to see that every one of them was taken. Now, if this were me (which it has been so many times), I slink away and go on the spin bikes and then come back later to see if there is any space. These German women? Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Wait? Them? Of course not. They then proceeded to embark on a 30-minute (no exaggeration) intimidating stare-a-thon at me and the other guy running away happily before their invasion. I've never experienced anything like it. They even walked up and down between our running machines staring at our times and distances on the screen. Unbelievable! It was like a silent staring interrogation room (I won't liken them to the 'unmentionable' In Germany that they perhaps could have been in a former life) - totally uncomfortable - but I was determined not to give in.

Unfortunately, this staring side of German life is not something that it is possible for me to change, so survival techniques are necessary. Only after making mistakes which induce extreme-staring sessions is it possible to learn what to avoid. Here is what I have learnt so far:

Do not go to ANY kind of fancy dress party and travel to said party on the U Bahn. White bunny ears and devil costumes will only cause staring trouble, no matter how fabulous and funny you feel in said outfits – the Germans will just look at you like you are: a) a hooker b) just let out of the loony bin or c) an English stereotype that gets drunk and dresses up.

Do not draw attention to yourself. Bright pink lipstick is not a sexy, style statement in this city – it's a staring magnet.

And finally, whatever you do…don't make eye contact with anyone, under ANY circumstances, whilst in the sauna area.

The stories behind the above learnings will have to be saved for another time. Meanwhile, enjoy the stare-free freedom of your home countries.

"He's behind you!" – Oh no, wait, no he's not.

That's right, German pantomimes would be very different to English ones (if they even had Pantomimes that is). The Germans are definitely never behind you, they are alway one (or perhaps five) steps ahead of you. The Germans may be efficient, but the Germans don't queue. No ifs or buts – they don't queue, end of. What they are absolute masters of however, is the evasion of the dreaded English-style queuing system (which I long and crave for, I have to admit). Don't let your guard down for even a second; otherwise they will slip straight ahead of you – taking the last butter breze that you had been craving in the office for the last 3 hours (true story). The sneaky Germans can begin their queue-jumping approach in several ways, all beginning with a seemingly innocent tap on the shoulder followed by:

"Can I...?"

"I don't want to buy anything, I just have a quick question."

"I was here earlier, I just nipped to the toilet"

I have now learned the responses to all of these potentially duping techniques: GET.TO.THE.BACK.OF.THE.QUEUE

I'm ashamed to say I fell for all of these at first though, being the nice, trusting English person that I am who has faith in those around me not trying to outwit me to the best baked-goods. A fifty year old little...well..you know what...decided to cross me when I was hungry and queuing to buy cream cakes (always a bad idea). I had already waited over 15 minutes in the non-existent queue (it involves hovering around the counter and hoping you catch the eye of the baker first!) and was getting impatient. She leans across me (she knew what she was doing the devious woman – a blatant body block if ever I saw one) and says, "I just have a quick question!". Turns out, unsurprisingly, that the quick question was about which cake she wanted to buy, which she then spends 15 minutes choosing while I was standing behind, money in hand. The most shocking part is that nobody around me was outraged by this. In England there would have definitely been some tutting, or curt comments. Or, better yet, the baker would have said, "I think this other lady was here first". Not in Germany. It's Darwinian – you snooze you lose – and in this case I lost the strawberry custard tart that I had greedily had my eye on for a full quarter of an hour. 

What is amusing though, is when a German tries a similar technique when surrounded by a group of British people, like at the airport. I was waiting to board when a German guy comes over and self-righteously pushes in front of me. I was not amused. Before I had chance to breathe and open my mouth though, the British cavalry were already there: "Oi mate, the back of the queue is behind you!". To which the German replies *in a very German, comedy-style British accent*: "I vos on thee toiLET, I vos ere before." Naturally though, the Brit didn't back down: "Well I didn't see you mate and it sounds like a classic queue-jumper thing to say. I'm afraid if you go for a p*** , you lose your place." Safe to say, this brazen British attitude actually worked. I smiled inwardly – God Save the Queen and her queue-obsessed citizens.

German queue behaviour is pretty strange too. I feel like as British person it is innate to queue in a straight line, one behind the other and, naturally, make sure you don't skip ahead of someone who was there 2 hours before you. The Germans? They do the drip effect. This can be best seen at airports (regardless of whether you are flying EasyJet or Lufthansa). As soon as that boarding announcement echoes over the airwaves, the Germans jump up from their seats and swarm towards the desk, in drip-like fashion.

One of the most frustrating habits though, involves the U Bahn. I can be standing waiting for the U Bahn to arrive for 10 minutes, with my prime spot where I know the doors will open (yes...I'm sad...I actually now know this...) and then, low and behold, a German comes and stands directly in front of me. DIRECTLY! It doesn't matter that the rest of the platform is entirely free, oh no, they just HAVE to stand there. Maybe it's the competitive side coming out again; in the same way it surfaces in sports shops. Perhaps there is something in that though, I definitely feel like it's always girls that do it – usually really pretty ones too. They are usually tall, blonde, tanned and flick their hair in my face as they do so. Lovely. I think this is definitely an underlying queue right too – your points on the hotness scale. These pretty girls seem to feel like it is their birthright to be first in the queue, no matter what the queue is for. A generalisation? Perhaps. Then again, if you had had blonde locks thrown into your face as much as I have, then you would understand where I am coming from.

Queuing at the supermarket checkout is also another stumbling block to master. The conveyor belts are a lot shorter in our supermarkets here – meaning a lot less time to load your things on and off, and you can be sure you have a pushy German huffing and puffing behind you. Yesterday I even had a woman stepping on my shoes in a stress to put her cat food tins on the conveyor – calm down love! Parents with no control over their children are also mildly enraging, even more so when they ask you for a favour. The other day I was in the supermarket queue and a woman asked me to get some stickers and give them to her, as my shopping would be expensive enough to get them free. Sure, why not help a lovely mother? She wasn't that lovely though. She let her irritating kids pull, push and shove around me (and actually me too), and then patronisingly interrupted my conversation with the cashier to tell me that she didn't want THOSE stickers, she wanted the OTHER stickers, followed by a massive sigh of frustration and a look which said *stupid British woman*. Meanwhile her children were mishandling my oranges – little buggers. I felt like telling her to stick her stickers where the sun didn't shine, but instead...I kept my cool.

Speaking of children, I had a very irritating toilet-queuing situation recently (don’t get me started on there only being 2 toilets for a place filled with hundreds of women). Everyone was dying for the bathroom, that much was obvious, (blame it on beer), and then a woman waltzes in with her son and pushes to the front. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not a child-hater...quite the opposite in fact. However, if he had been under five it would have been fine...under 6...acceptable. But seven or eight?! That's just wrong to me on too many levels. What's going to happen to him if she sends him to the boy’s bathroom? He's not going to get lost in the lavatory bowl. Even if he did, at least he would learn something. I'm almost 100% sure that he was a decoy because she was dying to go, and knew that would help her get to the front. Never underestimate the power of a desperate, queue-jumping German Frau.

Oktoberfest queuing is another thing entirely. Luckily the bouncers are well trained for the regular lines though, such as: "My friend is in there and has a table". Luckily for me too, they weren't trained in regard to boobs, exceedingly good dirndl bras and bunches of single women – I can unashamedly say that I got into tents every time this year with little trouble (am I turning into a queue-jumping German?!).

It's not all rudeness and pushing and shoving through. Oh no. The German's can be extremely polite – just in the most awkward of places: the sauna, and the changing rooms. You can be standing starkers in the changing room and the Germans will always greet the room with great gumption when they enter and leave it and if they think you may not have heard their hearty hello, they will probably come closer and say it again (regardless of your naked state), so make sure to respond straight away to avoid having a close-up and personal version. In the sauna too, it's the same: "Grüß Gott" (Greet God. Welcome to the catholic state of Bavaria – this is how we say hello here) is said to the whole room upon entering. For the first time in their day too, the Germans actually shift over and look almost eager for you to sit beside them. Hmmm.

On second thoughts, maybe I'm not so unhappy with the impolite attitude. Actually, I would definitely welcome it in the wellness area if it means no more awkward sauna situations– go ahead Germans, spread meanness across the spa world, you have my blessing!