englishman abroad, freelancing, parenting

Keeping last year’s resolutions

It’s January 1st, 2017 and I’m looking at my Dad-belly in the mirror.

“This year will be different,” I tell myself

“This year I’m going to go jogging every couple of days and heave weights and eat right”

… and heave them I temporarily did! I didn’t go jogging though, and when the weather got cold I considered it a good excuse to stop lifting weights. And cycling. And even pretending to eat right.

But the best thing about 2017 was that my real resolutions, the ones that have borne fruit, weren’t an arbitrary, date-based invention; they were a series of small, incremental ones I made throughout the year.

  1. An important client of mine stiffed me on a bill back in February 2017. It wasn’t much, just a few euros. But the principle of it really irked me and I asked them for the difference – no sale.

“Ok,” I told myself, “this is going to be the most expensive money they’ve ever saved”

  1. I got ill in the middle of 2017 and had to take some days off work. I previously wrote about how terrible zero-hours contracts are in the UK; freelancing positions with German language schools aren’t much better: No sick pay. No insurance. Some contracts actually have you pay for lessons you miss (even when ill). After being pressured into attending work late at night with the flu, I told myself:

“I need to get a job that treats me right”

  1. Watching my daughter, Aurelia, grow up is my pride and privilege. She’s really turning into a little lady these days. Well, part lady and part tomboy: she’s riding bikes, zooming about on her scooter, sword-fighting with sticks and climbing trees. Yet we still live in a modest apartment with no garden and just a small balcony in a horribly expensive town. She wants to play football, she wants to run free,

“She deserves better than this”

These are the resolutions that mattered. These are the resolutions that got done. I didn’t just pull them out of the air because it was January first, Present Year; I meant them.

It’s January 1st, 2018 and I’ve got my new job at a university working as a researcher on a project. It has holiday pay, sick pay and proper insurance. I’ve also got two lucrative side projects which don’t stiff me on the bill!

It’s January 1st, 2018 and we’ve recently bought a house with a huge garden in a peaceful village. Aurelia is going to love it when we move in later this year.

It’s January 1st, 2018 and I’m still looking at my Dad-belly in the mirror.

“This year will be different,” I tell myself.

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

If Germany was like Britain…

My daughter is finally a British citizen. After quite a bit of faffing around, her shiny new passport has arrived and I’m somewhat relieved from a measure of Brexit-induced stress. Whatever happens, she’ll always have the option of living in a different country. I started to wonder, what if Britain and Germany weren’t so different?

If Germany was like Britain…

  1. There would be Church of Germany with schools for children to attend.
  2. The Kaiser would give speeches every Christmas, people would watch.
  3. Plenty of young boys would flock to join the German Boy Scouts, no one would think it was ‘a bit too Nazi’.
  4. There would be a lot more German flags flying everywhere and German nationalism would be celebrated.
  5. Bavarian nationalism would thrive similarly to Scottish nationalism; Lederhosen-clad, Zither-playing, blue and white flag-wavers would campaign for an independent Bavaria.
  6. Germans would insist everyone spoke German and refuse to learn any other language.
  7. People would be a lot politer and a lot less productive.
  8. The wine and beer would be a lot worse and the cider much better.
  9. Many Bundesländer would print road signs in their own languages (just like Wales).
  10. Fish and Chips would be wildly popular but there would still be far less water to fish in.
  11. There might be a TV show called ‘Nur Narren und Pferde’ and it would have a cult following.
  12. A charismatic German spy would feature in many popular films and be renowned for his wit and seduction. His name might be Jacob Bund.
  13. Germany would regard Europe sceptically, and leave the EU.

It’s unthinkable, isn’t it?

 

englishman abroad

How to fail at shopping

On Sunday, we had a friend over for an authentic British Sunday Roast Dinner ™ 

Normally this would not be a big deal, I’d go to a British supermarket, go to the aisle that specifically has all manner of roasting joints in it, and choose a nice rib of beef or shoulder of lamb or large chicken to roast. But I live in Germany, where nothing is ever as straightforward as it should be. Here is the story of how I failed at food shopping. 

 First thing Saturday morning, I made a shopping list with all the ingredients I needed for the Sunday roast. The list included a roasting chicken and some roasting potatoes e.g. Maris Piper. I grabbed my debit card for some cashless shopping and zoomed down to my local supermarket… 

Problem number 1: you will need a pocket full of shrapnel to go shopping. 

While it’s true that most supermarkets take card payments, not a single supermarket seems to trust its customers with the trolleys. Therefore, if you don’t have a euro or some other small change to hand you cannot use a trolley. Cashless payment, Yes. Cashless shopping, No. It makes no sense. Never mind, I thought, I’ll just get as much shopping as I can here and go to the market later. I went to look at the potatoes… 

Problem number 2: German conformity strikes again. 

The supermarket I went to had ten different brands of potato for sale. All of them were white, small, and ‘Festkochend’. Exactly the sort of potato you want for boiling and mashing, not baking or roasting. I asked one of the assistants if they knew what sort of potatoes they were and she read the sign to me as though I was a simpleton. “yes, but are they Maris PiperKing EdwardPink Fir Apples or what?” 

Unfortunately, she merely pointed me toward the apples and muttered something pejorative. Consoling myself with the thought that they would have a much better selection at the local market, I moved onto the fruit and veg… 

Problem number 3Would you really eat this? 

I like some greens with my roast dinner and it’s too early in the year for kale, so I looked for a savoy cabbage. Good news: they had Savoy cabbage! Bad News: It was of a terrible, yellowing, moth-eaten quality! The supermarket had just hit strike three, so I left and went straight to the local market, which takes place in a small square outside a church. I looked for a decent butcher’s stall and found one with a large chicken, exactly the sort I wanted to roast.  

Problem number 4No. 

“Hello,” I said. “I’d like to buy this chicken for a roast dinner”

“A what?” 

“I’d like to roast this chicken” 

“No” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You can’t roast this chicken. It’s too big. This is a soup chicken, it’s for soup” 

I looked long and hard at the chicken. It was far too large for even the biggest pan I own, it would have fit comfortably into my oven, though. 

“Are you sure? What chicken can I roast?” 

“Here” she said, showing me the tiniest, gangliest-looking, little runt of a chicken I had ever seen. 

“I really would rather buy the larger chicken, there’s lots of people coming…” 

“No, I can’t do that” 

I looked at Chicken Lady. 

Chicken Lady looked at me. 

“I see. Goodbye.” 

“Goodbye” she said, impassively. 

Thankfully, the market had a few vegetables I wanted, including parsnips and savoy cabbage. I decided to take my daughter with me to the much larger market outside the registry office. 

Problem number 5A sable cloud athwart the welkin flings 

Then it started to absolutely bucket down with rain. Child in one arm, umbrella and shopping in the other, I pressed on as it rained heavily. Not a blasted chicken to be seen, although I managed to pick up a few fresh-looking vegetables. Before finally…

Solution: Make do and mend 

It turns out that German stallkeepers can be quite canny, despite the ineptitude of Chicken Lady. One of them cunningly offered my daughter a slice of sausage which she took immediately. “Don’t talk to strangers” I’ve always said, but did she listen?  Well, you can’t just take the free sausage and keep on walking, can you? Sausage Lady had won this round and so I decided to opt for a joint of beef instead. We had a pot roast and it turned out very well, except for when I forgot how to make Yorkshire puddings and nearly set the kitchen on fire. Advice: don’t use too much oil. 

My shopping trip took over five hours. When in Germany, do as the Germans do – eat boring food.

englishman abroad, stories

The strawberry who didn’t listen

I previously mentioned that I make up a lot of fictional characters for my daughter, as well as some short stories. What follows is a bedtime story that I made for her a little while ago, it’s called The strawberry who didn’t listen. This story really needs to be read aloud, it doesn’t work quite the same otherwise. Here we go:

There was once a little strawberry who lived with his family in a flowerpot in the garden.

One bright, sunny day the strawberry was looking around the vegetable plot and saw round, red things (they were tomatoes). He saw long, green things (they were cucumbers). He even saw pointy, orange things (they were carrots). But the little strawberry couldn’t see anything that looked like him.

So, the little strawberry went to his mummy and said “Mummy, what am I?”

“that’s easy,” said Mummy Strawberry “you are a strawberry!”

“a sore belly?” asked the little strawberry

“no, a strawberry!” said Mummy

“a snore jelly?” wondered the little strawberry

“no, you silly little strawberry!” said Mummy Strawberry “go and ask your father!”

So, the little strawberry went to speak to his father.

“Daddy?” asked the little strawberry “what am I?”

“That’s simple!” said Daddy Strawberry “you’re a strawberry!”

“a claw deli?”

“no, a strawberry!”

“a raw telly?”

“no, you foolish strawberry! Go and bother Grandpa strawberry with your questions!” said Daddy Strawberry.

So, the little strawberry went to see Grandpa Strawberry, the wisest and oldest of all the strawberries.

“Hello, young strawberry!” said Grandpa Strawberry “what are you up to?”

“I’m trying to find out what I am!” said the little strawberry.

“haven’t your mummy and daddy told you? You’re a strawberry!”

“a poor smelly?”

“no! A strawberry!”

“a jaw Shelly?”

“No! you confounded little strawberry!” said Grandpa Strawberry, who was also a very grumpy strawberry

“you are wally! a twit! a twerp! a nut!”

“OH!” said the Little Strawberry “a strawberry! why didn’t you just say so?”