Christmas, englishman abroad

The Christmas (booze) Market

The Christmas market is in town. If you don’t know what a German Christmas market is like, imagine a winter-themed funfair with lots of food and booze. The one in Oldenburg has a Ferris wheel, a shy (throw-a-ball-and-win-a-prize game), carousel, and other assorted games including a stage where Santa reads Christmas stories. It has a stall where you can buy sides of flame-cooked salmon in bread rolls, it has the requisite German sausages and Reibekuchen (potato cakes /latkes).

But the booze is the most interesting. There are myriad places where you can buy Glühwein, Eierlikör and Feuerzangbowle.

Glühwein

                Glühwein is the German take on mulled wine. Usually it’s red wine, but sometimes white is used, and it’s always really hot. Anyway, it keeps the cold out and you always get some money back when you return the glasses (there’s a deposit on them).

Glühwein mit Schuss

                Glühwein with a dash of something else in it. Typically a shot of rum. My father in law bought me one and I liked it so much I‘ve decided to have everything mit Schuss from now on. Coffee mit Schuss. Cola mit Schuss. Cornflakes mit Schuss. The Schuss really takes it up a notch.

Feuerzangbowle

Its Glühwein again, but this time its definitely only the red variety. If you thought the Schuss was taking it up a notch, stand by. They take a gigantic sugarloaf (it’s what they had before granulated sugar, I suppose) and soak the thing in rum. I mean they drench it. Then they set it on fire, and as the burning, molten, boozy mess drips into the bowl of Glühwein beneath they serve it to you. A huge plus with the stall that specialises in this drink is that it gives you free Spekulatius.

Eierlikör

If this is made properly it tastes like boozy custard. I honestly don’t know exactly what is in it but I would hazard: egg, advocaat, some other spirit and custard powder. I know that can’t be right, but the truth would probably be even worse. Google it at your peril. All I know for certain is that it definitely has egg in it, as one year I had some and also got a whole raw yolk in my mouth. Haven’t been too keen on it since.

 

englishman abroad, Teaching English

… and then three come along at once

I’m giving up some of my work to make time for more work. The freelance Business English side of my work has been rather disappointing recently. Specifically, there was this one big firm that just didn’t have any lessons for months and months. “don’t worry!” they said, “we’ll be back next week!”

Well, they said that for six months and that left a big hole in my plans and finances. Unfortunately, there’s nothing to stop all of my other freelancing gigs from doing the same thing…

 … so to hell with it! I’m minimising my freelance work and prioritising another more predictable and more lucrative project now. I’m currently doing twice as much work for the time being, handing off my old clients to new people and segueing into my new project. I’m very busy!

There’s also plenty of work to be done in my work as a lecturer: one of my two university courses is presenting coursework and writing essays, the other one is about to have exams which I am writing. I’m very busy!

There’s also a house we’re looking at and a couple of top-secret projects I can’t write about yet. Unfortunately, all of this busyness has kept me away from my two pet projects, this blog and Brexpats, for a while.

It’s just like buses: you wait six months for one and then three turn up at once!

englishman abroad, royalty

Trying to explain the Queen to my five-year-old daughter

I have a new pair of rather British cufflinks. They are styled after first-class stamps, which means they have a picture of the Queen on them. Yesterday, my daughter got a good look at them and asked, “is that Granny on your earrings?”Queen Cufflink 2

No, I explained, it wasn’t Granny and they weren’t earrings.

I explained what cufflinks were for and then she asked who the lady was.

“That’s the Queen”

“what queen?”

“The Queen of England!”

“What?”

“The lady on the stamps, money –”

“Birds?”

“No, there’s no lady on birds. You know I come from England?”

“Yeah!”

“England has a Queen!”

“Papa! No it doesn’t! Show me!”

Aurelia proceeded to watch the entirety of the Queen’s 2016 Christmas speech without complaint or distraction.

“What does she do?”

“The Queen is a nice lady who gives speeches like that one and –”

“She talked about Jesus!”

“… Yeah. She occasionally does that because she’s in charge of the Church in England”

“It’s not a real church though”

“Yes, it’s a real church. I was baptised into that church”

Aurelia’s eyes widened as she misunderstood this last sentence, thinking that the Queen had personally been at my baptism or something.

“Wow…”

“and she lives in a big palace with lots of dogs”

“What dogs?”

“Corgis” I said, showing her a hastily googled picture of corgis.

“Can they talk?”

“No”

“Can she fly?”

“No”

“Are you sure she’s a queen?

englishman abroad, freelancing

Freelancing isn’t so risky…

A common misconception about freelance work is that it is riskier than normal work. The thinking goes like this: A freelancer can earn more money than a contracted worker, it’s true, but they have to deal with the possibility of going without work for a while.

Today I’m going to explain why that’s total nonsense.

Firstly, there are plenty of people in the UK who work under ‘zero-hour contracts’. If you’re unfamiliar with such instruments, they go like this:

You work for an employer, but they don’t have to give you any hours.

True, you don’t have to accept any hours they do offer you, but you can probably guess what will happen if you don’t (you won’t be offered any more). Similarly, although an employer can’t contractually forbid you from working with another company on the side, you can probably guess what will happen if you do.

A zero-hours contract is essentially a way of giving your employer a lot more power at the expense of your own rights. I should know, I used to work for such a company; I managed a staff of forty people on such contracts. Well, we all have to start somewhere.

So, yes, if you’re on a zero-hour contract freelancing might be a better option.

But what about people who are regularly employed?

I worked for a company in London which sold off-plan property to investors, it was my first job out of university. The company soon went bankrupt and everyone lost their job. The CEO remained a multi-millionaire, having sold property that never existed.

I then worked as a trainee sous-chef for a large, London-based restaurant chain, I was to work in a new restaurant that was to open shortly. Except that the planning fell through, it never did open and I never became a sous-chef.

I then worked for an exciting tech and web advertising company in London. I worked in the provisioning team and applied myself, I got promoted into another team which dealt with customer accounts, I applied myself harder and won the team bonus every month. For four months. Then the company merged with another and the whole team was made redundant. Working hard for someone else didn’t pay off.

All of this happened against the backdrop of the banking crisis in which bankers had spent money that wasn’t theirs on things that didn’t exist and thus screwed the global economy. So much for saving, living within your means and avoiding unnecessary credit! Not to worry, the banks got a bailout from the taxpayer, business continued as usual.

Every time I did what I was supposed to, someone or something else didn’t. That’s the problem with regular employment: all the hard work and none of the decision-making power; all of the risk and none of the reward! There’s always a substantial risk, especially in regular employment, but we are largely ignorant of it. Your company, your branch or your team might be unsuccessful or too successful – both can lead to failure!

To summarise: the biggest risk is avoiding risk.

If you don’t take your chance, someone else will take it for you.

englishman abroad, marriage

Hot Stone Massage

We’ve been married for just over a year now and my wife and I went to a spa to celebrate. This is the story of how British squeamishness came to a German ‘Wellness Centre’. It all started on the fifth of October, I took my wife out for an anniversary meal at a nice Italian restaurant and she revealed to me that she’d booked something for us as well. That weekend, she revealed, we were going to a ‘Wellness Centre’. Mindful of the catastrophe that befell me the last time we went to a sauna, I asked what we would be doing there. We would be getting a Hot Stone Massage!

“Cool!” I thought, “presumably there is absolutely no need to be completely bollock naked for such an endeavour!”

Here begins the story of how wrong I was:

The evening started in a building near our local swimming pool. Quite modern on the outside but full-blown Buddhist temple on the inside, as it turns out. Candles and Buddha statues and all sorts of associated flim-flam of the hippy-dippy variety. We sat down in the reception area and a hooded acolyte the receptionist lead us to a very charming room with a gigantic bath in it, filled with what looked like milk. Here we were to bathe as Cleopatra did, in asses’ milk. I did feel like quite the ass as it happens, but the receptionist left us to it and it was quite pleasant.

After this, we put on some very nice and fluffy robes and went into an adjacent room for the Hot Stone Massage, the main event. There were two nice ladies.

One of them explained that we were to disrobe and lie naked on the massage tables.

Then they waited.

I waited.

They waited.

My wife disrobed and lay on the massage table as instructed.

“Shit” I thought. “I’m an Englishman, I don’t do nakedness in front of strangers!”

“Please lay on the table so we can give you the hot Ständer – er – Stein Massage”

That Freudian slip there is an interesting lexical mix-up. Stein means stone, Ständer means boner.

“They think I’ve got a boner! I’ll be damned if they think I’m some priapic teenager!”

I begrudgingly half-took-off my robe to preserve my modesty, this did not work; I lay on the massage table and flopped about like a seal in a net trying to get the robe off. I looked like an arse. They saw my arse. They helped me off with the robe and dutifully covered my arse up again. Thankfully, the massage itself was great.

Not ‘hot Ständer’ great, but pretty great.