Another one from the German vaults...

5 November 2005

HUGE BLAZE IN KELKHEIM - FIRE BRIGADE IN ATTENDANCE

The British Club of the Taunus was blamed for causing a huge fire in a residential area of Kelkheim on Saturday 5th November, which eventually had to be put out by the local fire brigade. This unusual disturbance was compounded by the letting off of a series of loud fireworks which lit up the sky for a good 15 minutes just as the kids were supposed to be going to bed. The damage was estimated at several charred trees, a number of disused wooden pallets adorned with the Deutsche Bahn logo and some startlingly realistic human effigies dressed in scary masks and old stockings.

A local resident, Herr Dr Guy Fawkes, commented: "Every year around this time, our local fields are taken over by a nomadic folk with a strange unintelligible tongue. And as soon as we have thrown the gipsies off the site, the British Club comes in to take over. These people simply do not feel the cold, and if it pours down with rain as well, that just seems to heighten their sense of enjoyment."

Local police have begun their search for those suspected of organising the crimes, who are known in the murky underworld of the Taunus simply by the code name of "the Gang of Three". It is believed that the gang members, whose trademark initials "KB", "JB" and "CR" were found engraved in the smouldering remains of the firewood, planned for months to carry off their "gunpowder plot" under the cover of dusk. It was such an incredible and secretive feat of organisation that they had to abandon their loved ones for several Sunday evenings in a row.

But the police have already concluded that they had to have received help, probably from people who know them well. It is simply impossible that such a daring assault against a quiet Saturday evening could have been perpetrated by just three ladies, all with young kids to care for. In particular, they want to speak to Mike "Hardman" Harding who is accused of toasting some defenceless Bratwurst to provide succour for the masses, Roger "Demon DJ" Aze who created a distraction by producing some really classic sounds for the assembled crowd and KB's daughter Emma and friend Kevin who travelled from the UK to slave away all evening over several hot chip-fat fryers. And it didn't stop there: it is thought that up to 30 further desperados were also involved in the preparations, the setting up of the tents and tables, the building of a truly splendid fire, the taking of the gate money, the car parking, the cooking, the selling of the food, the dispensing of abundant alcoholic beverages and the clearing up the next morning (come to think of it, rather fewer got involved with that).

Someone must have seen them at work, surely someone must have talked to them. Police are pinning their hopes on the possibility that something must have gone wrong along the way. Maybe a representative of the local town hall got an earful from KB and JB on the Friday morning when they discovered that Süwag [local electricity company] had kindly removed all the electricity points from the site? Perhaps the power then went at the start of the event and JB had to give short shrift to the wife of the "on site" electrician who had gone AWOL? Or maybe the drinks lorry first of all broke down on the way to the site, then got stuck on the British Club bunting hanging tastefully over the entrance? No, it's impossible that an event of that magnitude could have gone without a hitch.

The final word comes from Dr Fawkes: "We're simply not putting up with it for another year. It's not as if we live in the dark ages anymore - we're going to put up some nice houses on the site next summer, so that will put an end to your fun once and for all. Maybe then you'll realise that you can't just go around causing large fires without letting us in on your strange British secrets".

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PS A big thank you to everyone who kindly volunteered to help (who know who you are), it really couldn't have happened without you. And a huge vote of thanks is due in particular to the Gang of Three, Karen Burdis, Jayne Burton and Caroline Roberts, who deserve the highest praise for organising a very successful and enjoyable event. Now we start the search for a replacement site for next year……

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Postscript: Unfortunately, the search for an alternative venue proved to be a bridge too far, even for our three intrepid ladies. So, as far as we know, this is the last report on the last ever Guy Fawkes night fireworks event in the Frankfurt area.

Getting to the bottom of botanicals

5 December 2019

Red sky in the morning, gin experience warning

This is a very exciting day in our schedule of London outings, as today is all about drinking gin and having lunch, with any walking component being coincidental to proceedings. Specifically, we are trying out the “Gin Lover’s Tasting Experience and Three Course Lunch for Two at Skylon” from Virgin Experience Days, a snappy title if ever there was one. This was a very generous birthday gift from our daughter Annabel, but is about to expire into the murky depths of Richard Branson’s profit pot if we don’t redeem our voucher forthwith. To ease our conscience (and get our steps up), we start off by walking the Thames Path from London Bridge to the South Bank. It’s very cold, fully justifying our decision to focus on gin and lunch, in that order, inside a warm building. We eventually locate the entrance to Skylon, which could alternatively be named “the 3rd floor of the South Bank Centre, just above the public canteen”.

Our mixologist introduces himself as Marco and is a friendly and knowledgeable chap who hails from Italy. He asks us, tentatively, if we know in which country gin originates. Just to annoy him (or maybe she really believes this), Jayne takes a stab at France, even justifying it with a linguistically convincing reference to génévrier, the French word for juniper. A cloud appears to pass over Marco’s brow before he explains patiently that the correct answer is - of course - Italy. At least that’s what he claims - most of my subsequent Google searches of the history of gin fail to confirm any significant Italian heritage. To be fair, he does admit that the medically gifted monks of Salerno, who chanced upon the healing powers of juniper, did not yet recognise - and far less commercialise - its potential as a beverage. As with many things alcoholic, this task was left to the Dutch.

Baubles and Bols at the Skylon bar

And so it is that our first gin is a Bols Genever 1575, a tribute to the first gins of the era produced in the Low Countries. Marco firstly invites us to taste the Genever in its neat form - it’s virtually unrecognisable (and undrinkable). He then adds some Fever Tree Indian Tonic and it becomes transformed into a drink you could almost claim is close to gin and tonic - if a lot more bitter than the modern version. It’s thought that the Dutch still used it primarily as a cure for sickness, including the plague, and soldiers used to drink a ration or two before going into battle - the origin of the term “Dutch courage”.

It was only when William of Orange, the man still held responsible today for the garish colour of Dutch football kit, took over the English throne that gin started to become well known in Britain. But it was his successor, Queen Anne, who proved to be an even bigger fan, legalising unfettered gin production at the start of the 18th century. This didn’t go well, as you can imagine, and by the 1730s the estimated gin consumption per week had risen to two pints per man, woman and child in London - an astonishing volume, which would even be beyond some of our friends. The misery and depravity of the age is depicted in Hogarth’s famous drawing, Gin Lane (whereas his contemporaneous Beer Street looks positively civilised by comparison).

Meanwhile, back at the scene of our own - far more modest - gin consumption, Marco offers two further historical gins for us to compare and contrast:

- Hayman’s Old Tom 1863, which is more typical of the first gin types produced in the UK during the 18th and 19th centuries; and

- Tanqueray’s Premium London Dry Gin, the more familiar gin variety which was first produced in the 1830’s and has become the gold standard for most modern gins.

We deem both very quaffable - certainly compared to the Bols Genever. The Old Tom offers a more rustic taste, a bit rougher around the edges somehow, but it’s refreshing to find an alternative to its more prevalent relation. We resolve to try Old Tom more regularly - most likely as a martini (shaken not stirred, in classic 007 style). As we sip our drinks, Marco continues to wax lyrical about ongoing excessive gin drinking in London, which had now extended into the Victorian era. At this time, in the midst of the Industrial Revolution, increasing numbers of people were flocking to London in the hope of finding remunerated work - only to find that the remuneration was, er, in gin, rather than actual money. This didn’t help much either.

Trail of destruction ... and it's only 12.30

But there was a saving grace. At around the same time, the British empire-builders in India were finding that quinine helped in the fight against malaria (and also as a cure for any after-effects of scurvy from the long boat journey). There was only one problem - it tasted terrible. Luckily, some clever person discovered that the taste became a lot less bitter - and even more health-giving - when combined with gin. And so a legend of cocktail hour was born.

Our final gin of the tasting experience turns out to be its pièce de résistance - a Truffle Gin from the very wonderful Cambridge Distillery, whose headline product we have already been enjoying this month. This is more of a digestif than a traditional gin, served neat over ice with a twist of orange. It’s delightful, the truffle taste and smell very prevalent yet blending perfectly with the botanicals. It’s lucky we’ve already had our lunch, otherwise we’d be a bit wobbly. Oh, silly me, we haven’t … damn. We later see on the Cambridge website that the Truffle Gin retails at £80 a bottle, enough to make your eyes water but a mere snip compared to their Anty Gin (£220) - which is actually made from red ants - or their Japanese-style Watenshi - at £2,000, surely the Big Daddy of very expensive premium craft gins.

Marco explains that craft distilleries such as Cambridge (founded eight years ago) shot to prominence only after the law was changed in 2013 to allow much smaller batches to be produced. This was a legacy of the Gin Law of 1736, passed as a vain attempt to curtail the profligacy introduced by Queen Anne. Although the draconian £50 licence fee levied on producers - a prohibitive sum in the 18th century - had long since ceased to be a barrier, the very high minimum production quantities enforced by Customs & Excise prevented more “boutique” distillers from entering a market long dominated by mass producers such as Gordon’s. Since 2013 - also encouraged by the parallel growth in craft beer - there has been an explosion in the number, variety and quality of small gin producers, not only in the UK but more widely. It’s a great time to be a gin drinker (hurrah).

Sweeping view of ... a wigwam

I hold onto this thought as Marco informs us that our gin lesson is complete and our table is now ready for lunch. Disaster immediately strikes as a waiter starts clearing away our burgeoning collections of only partially consumed gin glasses. Devastated and bereft, we slouch across the restaurant to our table - only for our gins to make a welcome reappearance a few minutes later. The relief is palpable, as we hate to think of good gin going to waste, especially at this time of year. We have a nice window table too, with sweeping views of the river (and what would normally a sweeping view of my former employer’s enormous Embankment Place pile - except today it’s obscured by a random wigwam).

Lunch at Skylon

The lunch menu (normally £34 for three courses, but in our case £25 as part of the Virgin Experience offer) offers a decent choice between three dishes per course, plus ample sides as extras. Jayne chooses a Celtic combo of Scottish Gravlax and Cornish Cod, which is more or less what I’d have picked if she hadn’t got there first, so I order Roasted Ironbark Pumpkin Soup and Autumn Vegetable Curry. As it’s almost Christmas, we push the boat out with an extra side of sprouts garnished with bacon and chestnuts. It’s all well presented and tasty enough, without pretending to exceed expectations for its price point. For Central London and with a nice view though, I would say it’s decent value - particularly at the reduced “package deal” price. What’s more, we continue to enjoy our range of gins throughout lunch, so have no need to raid the wine list as well. At the end, we only need to settle up for the sprouts and the service charge (though, arguably, Virgin could make clearer that the latter is not already included in the experience price).

At £100 for two, including the gin tasting and a three course lunch, we would not hesitate to recommend this experience at Skylon. I did notice, however, that the offer on the Virgin Experiences website now includes only three gins in the tasting, rather than the four we enjoyed, so I imagine the “Super Premium” element of the Truffle Gin has now been axed. Despite this, the Skylon deal looks to be far better value for money than a competing gin tasting on level 68 of The Shard, which - for the same price - offers three gins, an amazing view, but - nothing to eat. In particular, our mixologist Marco was an excellent host, taking time to explain everything and add some of his own twists to the many historical insights. In summary, it’s a thoroughly enjoyable way to spend three hours while the kids are at school - as long as they don’t expect a lift home.

Acknowledgement: Thanks Annabel!

British humour (and beds) in Germany

It's right back to the archives for these two articles, as I originally wrote them in 2007 while we were living in Germany.

We loved living in Germany - which was just as well, given we were there for so many years - and have just enjoyed a reunion weekend with our group of expat friends from that time. They reminded me about a certain"diplomatic incident" which occurred when I penned an article for the local expat magazine (circulation: 13.5 expats and 2 dogs). This was innocently conceived as a "puff piece" for a British bedding company alongside a paid advert for same, but seems to have developed into mini-rant about some German customs. Reading it back, I think it was actually quite mild, but it did result in some less-than-amused German readers contacting the magazine to complain.

Naturally I felt hurt - not for the first or last time - that my attempt at using British humour in Germany (aka "taking the piss out of the locals") had failed to hit the spot. Yet, just like our politicians, I failed to accept reality when it struck me in the face and instead decided to double down. So, I wrote another article in a mock-German professorial style called "An Anatomy of British Humour". Luckily this one was never submitted for publication, but it sure made me feel better at the time.

Both articles are reproduced below. Apologies in advance for any offence caused, I can assure you none is intended and I love you all dearly.

Postscript: Pleasingly, the bedding company is still thriving and now delivers worldwide if ever you're in need of a British bed. Lots of testimonials on their website, but strangely ours is missing: https://britishbedsworldwide.com/

1. BRITISH BEDS - YOU CAN'T BEAT 'EM

No matter how much you appreciate the overall quality of life as a resident of the beautiful Taunus, there are some things about living in Germany that really get on your wick.

Why is it impossible to buy something as basic to the needs of man (and woman) as a bed with a double mattress?

Ask any German and they will give you the answer that a double mattress is one of unhealthiest things you could imagine, in fact right up there with drinking 50 units of alcohol a week or going for a romantic stroll in downtown Baghdad. Apparently it's the risk of sharing your partner's night-time perspiration that's the big problem…..and that from a nation that still smokes like a chimney. Get over it!

(My theory is that this rather odd phobia comes from the same stable as:

1. hanging the bedding out of the window in mid-winter

2. insisting all young children wear scarves and hats at all times of year except July and August, irrespective of the prevailing temperature

3. stripping off any wet swimwear immediately after climbing out of the pool even if it is sunny and 25 degrees

…..but I digress).

So, we were confronted with a major domestic crisis when our old bed finally gave up the ghost after almost 9 years living here. By coincidence, Karen and Alan were also facing the same problem, in their case after only 5 years. (I didn't quite understand that difference but maybe this is the proof that I've working away too much….but I digress again).

Desperate for inspiration, Karen and Jayne resorted to surfing the internet. And so they came across "British Beds in France" (BBF for short), a company with its origins in purveying good old British beds to the expat hordes in Provence and the Dordogne. A cunning plan was hatched for hiring a van and driving to an agreed pick-up point somewhere in the Alsace.

Then the triumphant moment: buried in the depths of the website, we discovered that BBF have just started a delivery service to Germany! Problem solved.

6 weeks later and our new beds were duly delivered to our homes in Oberursel and Königstein. The customer care from Roger, our contact at BBF in the UK, was first class and the delivery team was very willing to help with assembly in return for a reasonable tip. They even took away all the packaging.

The beds themselves are great and I have cancelled all business trips for the foreseeable future. We can only recommend the BBF experience to anyone who needs to replace their current bed and is equally turned off by the prospect of sleeping on a single mattress - however healthy this may be.

2. AN ANATOMY OF "BRITISH HUMOUR"

The following article is an extract from Prof. Dr. Dr. Richard's famous thesis on British Humour for which he was awarded his second doctorate in 1985 by the Universität von Burton. After leaving university at the age of 42, he enjoyed a brilliant career in industry with Blossnichtlachen AG, being promoted at the tender age of 58 to member of the Vorstand responsible for useless facts and figures. Sadly he was forced to resign only 6 months later following an unfortunate - and certainly not at all amusing - incident involving a trade union official and a pineapple.

Section 94.2 - British birthday cards

Another strange British tradition is to send "amusing" cards to family and friends on the occasion of their birthday. Why don't they simply bring them some homemade cake like any normal person? This custom requires some more detailed analysis by way of examples:

Example 94.2.1: This is a card (approx 8cm x 5cm) with a very rudimentary drawing of a man whose head is shaped somewhat like a television set, alongside some text:

“Is there more to life than watching sport on TV?”

“Yes! Watching sport on TV with a beer.”

This seems purely to confirm my earlier conclusions on the British obsessions with sport (Section 12.3), alcohol (Sections 1.1, 2.1, 3.1 etc. etc.) and watching TV (Section 82.5). While providing further scientific proof in the above areas, the card could not be described as amusing in an objective sense.

Example 94.2.2: This card depicts an English cricket team from the "Victorian" era, below which is written:

"For a moment we were in with a chance…..then the game started"

Inside the card, the sender has written a further genial birthday message:

"Sounds a bit like Charlton, doesn't it?!"

For the benefit of the uninitiated in English sporting customs, "cricket" is a game played by country gentlemen who take turns to hit a heavy ball through a series of small hoops using a large wooden hammer. This may be very quaint and strange, but is not particularly funny according to the Duden dictionary definition of this word. In addition, one has to cast doubt as to whether such an odd-looking team should realistically have believed they stood a chance prior to the start of the game.

Example 94.2.3: The card displays a tasteless picture of an old age pensioner with his bottom lip curling upwards to cover the lower part of his nose. As we have come to expect by now, there is some accompanying text:

"Getting old is: when you look as good standing on your head…as you do right side up"

We decided to put this theory to a series of rigorous laboratory tests using a representative sample of both young and old people. Even in the case of the older sample members, the evidence for the theory was in no way conclusive, the main problem being that the feet invariably appeared where the head would normally be. Hence, we concluded that the statement is factually incorrect, which we believe could expose the publisher of the card to possible warranty claims from disgruntled birthday card owners. And growing old is certainly no laughing matter.

Example 94.2.4: This card shows a technically quite accurate drawing of a dog, which has a bumble bee flying about 10cm above its head.

In this example the text is unusually short:

"Bee happy"

but unfortunately contains a typographical error, hence disqualifying it from any further assessment of its amusement content.

Example 94.2.5: Here we have a much larger card (approx 12cm x 8cm) which depicts three dogs at a medal ceremony where the middle dog is standing on a podium which is raised slightly higher than the other two dogs' podia.

The text states:

"No. 1 Dad!"

This statement appears to be particularly poorly researched. There is no reference to any empirical study undertaken of a suitably wide cross-section of the global population by an independent body accredited to issue a Gutachten in this technically complex area. Therefore I firmly believe that these statements should simply be discounted, as the subjective opinion of the card holder's five year old daughter Annabel carries no academic weight. However, it is undoubtedly the funniest example so far.

Conclusion: The birthday card examples provide further conclusive proof that British attempts at humour are doomed to failure by a combination of:

- failing to check simple facts

- incomplete or non-existent research

- spelling mistakes

- severe limitations in the subject matter (beer, sport, TV, dogs).

Why do they not simply treat life with the seriousness it deserves - like us?

(continues for 256 pages)