Sunday, 17 June 2012

Northern Bavaria. Garden of Earthly Delights.

Yes, I'm still here. Just arrived this afternoon after a remarkably simple journey: everything on time from Toulouse to Munich, no wait of any import for the rental car, an easy trip north to Bayreuth and everything subsequently open enabling me to food shop and get my mobile phone and internet connections up and running. Germany c. 2012 bears no relation to Germany c. 1987 when I first moved here as a horny music graduate, aiming to bestride Fräuleins and Faust in that order. Shops closed - literally - religiously at 5pm and Saturday was Merthyr Tydfil on a Sunday after 12 noon. Germany has become a little more cosmopolitan since then but the essential values remain, and they need to be applauded. I saw something wonderful this afternoon: in need of a pee, I stopped at a service station just north of Nuremberg. I parked next to a car with the registration H-UR xxxx. Seeing as number plates in Germany can be customised for no more than €10, I found it strange that someone should have accepted a computer-generated plate that almost described him/her as a whore. Unless…Beside the car was a very good-looking young lady in a scanty dress who was, in anyone's book, lasciviously eating a banana and looking in my direction. OK, I'm really not bad-looking, but I'm no spring chicken and it certainly wasn't my rental Opel Corsa that had turned her head, so…maybe I missed my chance. And…that's another thing that happens to you at this age.

I remember in Koblenz in 1987 that there was a famous lady of doubtful virtue in the town whose number plate was KO-DM 400. KO was the Koblenz prefix (still is) and DM, for those born after 2002, stood for Deutschmark. Actually, if you were born after 2002 you really shouldn't be reading this blog, but still. She basically drove about in her own advertising hoarding. She was nicknamed Dolly Parton, presumably for her singing ability. And her ability to stand by her man. Right.

Incredible as it may sound, but traffic to this site has increased since I started posting pictures of porn stars, of which the posts' titles contain keywords easily identified and located on any sub-human council estate. It's turned into a bit of fun: how many people can you tempt to your domain with a facile turn of phrase? It's remarkable, but the current crop really seems to have struck a chord in Indonesia, that pious archipelago where someone threatened me back in 1992 for smoking during Ramadan. Forgive me if I don't return any time soon.

Back to Germany. The most abiding memory I will ever retain of this country is the fact that, if you keep your nose clean, the country will see you right. I can't put it any better than that. The German Pension Insurance spends half its working life making sure I know how much I'm due should I decide to stop work tomorrow, tracking me down wherever I may be hiding before exhorting me to produce more documentation which may increase my financial entitlement. I've linked these suitors up with my French employers who should now, if there is any justice in this world, decide to accord me a Fred Goodwin-sized monthly income coupled with a weekly threesome with Deauxma and Jemma Jameson. As long as it's not with François Hollande and Angela Merkel I'll be happy. My most recent trip to the Toulouse tax office only reinforced my convinction that the French tax body is one of the most fantastic organisations in the world: I have never, repeat: never had a bad experience with these people. It really seems to be a question of 'Do as you would be done by'; treat them with respect, flirt with those attractive, well-preserved forty-somethings and you will leave the building with a glow of satisfaction. That's another good thing about France: the forty-somethings still look fucking good, so make sure they know you appreciate the effort they've made; they'll love you for it. Life's a game, and it's still a lot of fun, even at my age. Possibly the only one left at my age.

I've waffled on for so long I've forgotten what kind of picture I should put at the bottom of this post. What the hell, it'll probably feature tits in some form. Let's see: Germany, Tax, Happiness, Car Park Tricks. I'll see what Google comes up with…

This second picture is not of a car park meter, but of a prostitutes' tax meter in Bonn. They have to pay €6 a night for using public streets. Worth a look on the internet. Made by Siemens by the way , you know…

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