High pressure international jet-set what-have-you

I'm usually pretty good at keeping regular vides in my appointments diary.  I don't like being on the meter constantly, especially when I'm supposed to be enjoying myself.  Other people appear to love being ordered hither and yon in the name of leisure, but they, madam, are perverts.  I'll have no truck with it.

Having said all that, which I just have (see above), events do conspire from time to time to cause me to spread my considerable talents and charisma a bit thin.  The next week is a case in point.  I'm already up against it at work.  This our busy period.  On Friday I have to leave the office early in order to dash to Heathrow for a flight to Berlin.  We're in Germany until Monday.  Back to work Tuesday.  On Wednesday I witnessing the marriage of a friend.  Back to work Thursday, a day full of back-to-back meetings.  Work again on Friday.  An archery lesson on Saturday and we're collecting some hops as part of a local brewery scheme on Sunday morning.  Still, it's all good fun I suppose.

I might have mentioned before now that I've given up beer for Lent.  I will have to forgo this fast for the duration of our stay in Berlin though.  Germany produces some splendid beers, not the fizzy lager piss with which you're no doubt familiar, but proper beer.  I was particularly taken on our last trip there with a kraut jollop called "winterboch".  It's a dark, flavoursome ale they produce for the cold winter months.  It's super.  I cannot and will not not drink it.  Nein, nein und thrice nein.

Rhine, women and song

Mrs O and I are fresh back from a weekend in Berlin.  It was one of those exhilarating lightning-quick city breaks, the kind of thing that convinces to you give adult life a second chance.  We both clambered on the plane home yesterday afternoon with a feeling of unfinished business.  We didn't stop once the whole time we were there, but still left with the feeling that we'd only scratched the surface of this fascinating place.  

So - we've resolved to go back.  We're also going to get some rudimentary German under our belts.  We're not setting our aim too high, just the ability to order food and drink in a reasonably fluent manner would be nice.  Mrs O studied German at school, which is useful because she has the vocab, albeit buried.  But I'm a complete novice.  I find it sufficiently close to English to make listening comprehension fairly easy, however, so that's half the battle won.  French, which I speak reasonably well, is a nightmare in this regard.  I find it murderously difficult to follow people's responses to me in France.  I'm hopeful that German will be less tortuous on the English ear.  

Another benefit of German is that now and again you encounter the oh-so pleasing instance of a German phrase that is exactly the same as its English cousin, albeit with a more sinister accent.  "Brown beer" or "all in order?" are examples of this charming phenomenon.

It's funny too that one feels a certain unspoken affinity with other northern European races.  The Dutch, the Germans and the English are very much cousins as far as outlook and society is concerned.  And, cliche though it is, I always feel comforted when in Germany because things are so well organised.

The heat is off

Phew, it's getting warm - a subtle reminder to the populace that it's still technically the middle of summer.  There's a temptation to think the season over now as the World Cup has just ended.  I had to remind Mrs O last night that we had most of our summer jollies still to look forward to, so pucker-up!  This is a shameless role-reversal for me as I'm ordinarily the one with a face like a clattered asshole.  Yet, here I was, bestriding the front room like an upbeat colossus.  I can only suppose this optimism is my unconscious mind trying to deal with triple-digit humidity.

The wife and I usually take our holidays late in the year to avoid the great unwashed and their mewling progeny.  This year we had planned to go to Tel Aviv but John Simpson advised against it.  Instead we're having a series of mini-breaks in Spain and Germany.

On the surface, they're uneasy bedfellows, Germany and Spain, but each offers the wise traveller a wonderful playground in its own way.  People always cock-on about visiting this monument and that restaurant when they're on hols, like it's some sort of Ironman competition.  You're there to relax and enjoy yourself, you dozy twat.  People who claim that they're not interested in a bit of low impact R&R during the vacs and prefer instead to yomp or go pot-holing need an electric shock to the brain, frankly.  When I go on a mini break, I want things to be different, other and new.  What I don't want is onerous.  This is why S&G offer very different cultural mores, but similar experiences.