Alex's · Adventures · In · Deutschland

...I am up at quarter past five, pondering and cleaning. My parents sent my some newspaper articles (a regular weekly arangement), and one of them was this (by accident or design, I can't quite be sure): http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/6722699.stm

Quite how those responsible can live with themselves is beyond me; the whole sorry state of affairs is a monstrous tragedy, and in my opinion if her father had but a scrap of the 'honour' he was seeking he would have hanged himself shortly after the realisation of what he'd inflicted on his beautiful daughter hit him.
Suffice to say, it probably wasn't a good idea to read such a thing before falling asleep, and I had an absolutely terrible dream about being trapped in my room by my Syrian neighbour (of all people, never done me any harm but I find his ranting in Arabic into his mobile sinister/annoying, depending on the hour), Lesan, and several others. Fortunately, I can't remember the full details, but I doubt I'll be falling asleep again anytime soon.

It's been a long time since I last updated, and that's for 2 reasons:

1) Other than leaving school, I've really not had a great deal to report;

2) I was in a fit of pique with humanity because I had nothing to report, and the last three times I did not one bugger commented.

Anyway, as I said, school has been over for weeks. I got no real thanks from any but one pupil, and as for a card - don't make me laugh. FSAs in other schools I know were well appreciated, but for me that was borderline even with the staff, it seems.
I hoped to reap some social benefits by remaining in Germany an extra month; never has an undertaking been such a profound mistake since George W. Bush turned to Donald Rumsfeld and said "Hey, you know who I absolutely hate? That Saddam bloke..."
So, I missed Kieler Woche (the biggest sailing festival/booze-fest in the world), and I've missed a lot of other things, but there is one ray of hope; by sitting out here I've not annoyed too many of my remaining friends beyond their endurance, and can thus enjoy at least the first few weeks of being home.
I'm now very slowly trying to pack; I have just braved the rain and gale force winds to take some rubbish down, which included bedding, towels and a plate which survived the accident and the journey, yet not my attempts to wash up whilst running on empty... I still have so much it's unreal, despite posting 15kg of stuff back already, and planning on doing the same to my computer and monitor very soon. But it's strange; everytime I throw something away, even if I had no intention of taking it home, I feel so very... Well, almost liberated. Odd.

So, I fly out on 3rd of July, and finally leave this disastrous, pointless interlude behind me.

Today in Schleswig-Holstein it is a Bank Holiday. It is Ascension Thursday, or 'Christi Himmelfahrt', if you will.
This means that I have a day I have off anyway to sit here with absolutely no shops open and nothing to do. Or so I thought. Bank Holidays and Sundays in Germany are a little what I imagine it's like to be dead, or locked in some sort of cell/room deprived of all senses. Nothing is open, even here in the centre of the Landeshauptstadt, except the odd far-flung petrol station and Ihr Platz in the Hauptbahnhof.
But anyway, I digress.
Thanks to a certain individual who shall remain nameless, I did have somewhere to be this morning; Karlstal, and then riding around on the 31 von Mettenhof, Narvikstraße nach Krooger Kamp, über Karlstal.
It sounds boring, and has to be done for certain reasons I shan't go into here, but it was actually very exciting. In fact, never has a mere bus ride inspired such anticipation.
Well, when I say exciting... There were certainly fireworks.
Whilst seated at the back of this bus, my favourite Kiel public transport official, the bullying, racist, skinhead bus inspector, deigned to get on and inspect tickets.
I thought this was fairly unusual for a Bank Holiday, but this jobsworth certainly didn't let the fact most sensible people were in bed faze him.
Swinging down the back of the bus like a strategically shaved ape, he flashed his pass and demanded valid tickets be produced, as is his oh-so-rewarding purpose upon this earth.
I was somewhat distracted by my companion, but he noticed us; "Ah, the two foreigners!"
Now, without going into boring details, I have a monthly ticket stapled into a photo-pass; it is adequate to simply carry this and produce it for inspection when asked to do so by said strategically shaved ape or his cohorts.
However, due to Germany being Germany, most other types of tickets must be validated by being placed into a machine on the bus itself to be stamped, which results in a pleasing 'ping' that makes it sound like you've just won something. For some reason, this even applies to tickets purchased from the driver (I wasn't aware of this myself until I saw someone fined for this 'offence' the other day).
So... My companion had purchased her ticket from the driver when we boarded, but neglected to get it stamped in the little red machine.
Legend has it that even the Nazis sometimes granted clemency for this most serious of misdemeanours, commuting a death sentence to 25 years in the camps. I mean, I know all the arguments for this policy; I know not stamping a ticket you've just bought undermines social order, funds terrorism, helps illegal immigrants and the black economy, as well as causing cancer and probably a substantial crash in house prices, too.
However, she'd neglected to do it, and officially, the ticket was invalid. Seeing as this is Germany, 'officially' counts for an awful lot, especially when it contradicts all decency and common sense (obviously officialdom was not too much help to her when she was violently assaulted, but how on earth can the two incidents by compared in seriousness? I mean, an innocent refugee getting her wrist smashed by a thug pales into insignificance next to a bus ticket bought that morning which has not been dinged in a little box, as I'm sure all reasonable people will agree).
What also counts for an awful lot is that fact that, due to a past incident (or in my case, two past incidents), this particular individual does not like us. Partly because we're fouling up his country with our presence and breathing his air, and partly because I've made him look like the petty little prick that he is.
Sadly, my companion did not take the situation too seriously; she spent much time trying to 'distract' me as I talked to him, then spoke to me, causing him to comment "Her German has improved a lot!"
So, he's a detail-remembering one! The worst sort of German, especially when he's been equipped with an offical pass and a little machine.
She rather flippantly told him she had a ticket and that was that, so I sprung into action; I gave her a big smile and said "Fahrkarte bitte!"
When she gave it to me, I got up, passed him, and plugged it into the little box.
'Ding!'
The little counter moved around to the 36.
I thought he might crumble under the emotion of the moment, but he scowled at me instead. I never minded, as it seemed to suit him.
Suddenly, an elderly Muslim lady in a headscarf walked out in front of the bus (as later transpired), causing it to brake VERY sharply, and Mr. 'I vas born 80 years too late, Fahrkarte bitte' was flung forwards, into me. So, the hard nut racist was hanging on to the foreigner to avoid a broken arm. I grabbed a pole and hung on, but we nearly fell. I smiled and said I wouldn't press charges, then his colleague came and said the stamping wasn't overly important.
Really?
In comparison to what, global warming or civil war in Iraq?

Due to the overwhelming response to my last two heartfelt entries, I thought I'd update again. Nothing better to do, certainly.
It's not even midday for most of the people whom I'm addressing (if indeed, anyone), yet it's already been an action packed day here in Deutschland.
Not only did I stick my great big hooter in where it wasn't needed in school, I was almost involved in yet another RTA (road traffic accident for the uninformed).
So, said 'victim' from last posts tells me what happened - the big bad Turk punched her. He's still walking around like he owns the place, so at the end of the lesson I asked the teacher if she's aware what's happened/is happening.
She says she knows nothing about it, and when we check the discipline record (in a peculiarly German fashion we simply record the most minor of misdemeanours instead of attempting to correct them), we find that particular entry missing.
"Silke should have written that in!" Monika says helpfully. "The class teacher won't even be aware!"
Whata mistakea to makea, as that Italian captain used to say on 'Allo 'Allo.
It obviously never occurred to any of the other teachers, even her actual class teacher, to say "Hey, you have a fucking huge bandage on your wrist and you're struggling to write, what happened? Are you ok?"
No, that's right folks; if it's not in the Big Red Book (Die Klassenbucher), it never happened. Like This is your Life in Purgatory.
Amazingly, a glance through this normally frighteningly precise document tells me that several individuals spent all lesson talking, one was caught surreptitiously drinking orange juice, and one had headphones on. I half expected to see a record of when I'd scrathed my leg earlier in the day, but that momentous event was missing, along with one other... When one of the two girls was violently assaulted and had to leave school early to go to the doctor, accompanied only by her friend.
I expressed my opinion that the entire situation is utterly appalling, but now wish I hadn't; the teacher, contrary to my expectations, insisted we tell the class teacher and launch an investigation.
Credit where it's due, that's a fine ideal. But she had fear in her eyes when she told me, a week has now passed, and that adds up to an investigation causing more hassle than it's worth; even if by some miracle he got kicked out, she then has to put up with his friends, and in all likelihood he'll get a slap on the wrist (I doubt they'll go to the lengths he did to leave physical evidence), and probably harass her even worse than before.
I now feel like a complete idiot; I thought that it would be common knowledge amongst the staff to a degree, and it was a non-issue.
I have not helped her at all, in fact I've made it ten times worse, and I suppose I have to live with that.

I have just received an email from my Betreungslehrerin. She questions my dedication to my lessons because I had the cheek to call in sick on Wednesday.
Wow. A day off sick. Considering that on Tuesday, a young girl was violently assaulted, and the teacher's response was 'oh dear, perhaps your friend will take you to the doctor', I'm not really sure it's appropriate to question my dedication alone. Considering the assailant is 20 years old, his victim 17. Considering I lost sleep that night because I cared about her plight. Considering that the teacher concerned is a trained professional and I am to all intents and purposes a volunteer; she is trained, has years of experience behind her and earns tens of thousands of pounds more than me a year. Considering that I heard two more teachers, supposedly educated, liberal professionals, laughing about 'the conflict between Turk and Kurd, here in our school.'
Yes, a young girl in the clinic with no comfort but her friend, missing important lessons and left with medical bills she can ill afford. Her attacker, a grown man with a history of harassing these two girls, still running around the school. Absolutely hilarious.
Is it any surprise that I don't want to go in under such circumstances? Who would? Well, evidently if you can be there physically and elsewhere mentally, like the teachers themselves, then alles in ordnung.
If you can try to palm off all of your discipline problems and unruly pupils to an untrained assistant, deliberately neglecting those pupils who want to learn, then it must be a quiet life. Sadly for me (and I do mean sadly), I actually notice what's going on around me, for the most part; countless times I have observed this individual and a couple of others harass the girls, and heard reports of other incidents during which I have not been present.
If I can notice this tension and these problems, then why can't the teacher? During the actual lesson, I generally have as much to think about and do as much as she does. I have brought these incidents to her attention several times, to have them shrugged off as less important than hurrying for her next schwarzbrot sandwich and cup of coffee.
Now, I am simply at a loss.

Often, life makes me sad. Sometimes, I can't explain why, it just does.
I sometimes think I'm far too sensitive. Perhaps I perceive injustice where there is none; sometimes, it's almost as if I'd like there to be some, so I have something to complain about. However, whenever I think these things, whenever I think that perhaps life is right and I'm the one in the wrong, something always proves otherwise.
The world is a cold, cruel and unjust place, and some people will remain eternally lost in it's cruellest, darkest recesses. No matter what they do, who or what they latch themselves onto, they will simply remain there forever, wandering aimlessly.
When I look into her eyes and think of what she's been through, the things she's seen that no one should ever see, this makes me sad. When I think of the general lack of respect given to someone because of the colour of their skin or their country of origin, this makes me sad. When I think of someone so worthwhile cast on to life's scrapheap before she's had a chance, her wings clipped before she's had a chance to soar as I know she could and should, it makes me feel that there's just no point.
Some were seemingly born to win, and others to lose; some were simply born to be preyed upon by the unscrupulous, those individuals who strike again and again yet always come out the other side unscathed, whilst good, decent people fall by the wayside.
I can only say that my sincerest wish is that I could change some aspect of this for her, just alter some tenet of her existence in this purgatory.
But that is beyond my power; for some people actually think she deserves this, or those of her ilk deserve it; it is all they are good for. Ironically, often these individuals are people who should know better; not only teachers and other professionals, but people who are in exactly the same position themselves.
Perhaps they're jealous; jealous that someone so pure and good, someone who cherishes faith and morality so very highly, would never look twice at them; jealous that someone else who was born on the scrapheap too can even dream about soaring with the stars.
I just can't work any of it out; maybe I was never meant to.

Today, on my way home from 'work' (at approximately 11.20am), it occurred to me that perhaps I walk too fast (no, seriously, this is an actual entry explaining things I genuinely have enough time to ponder). This is because I was walking along at my usual pace, and three German lads cut in front of me. They were ambling along so slowly that I was forced to sigh loudly and lag behind them, because kindly they made overtaking impossible. Or at least, that's how it seemed to me; perhaps they were just walking at a normal pace?

In other news, I now only have 5 of my favourite lessons left. Today, I had to explain the concepts of 'less, more and most' et al to someone who could not grasp them if her life depended on it, although fortunately it does not. It just makes communicating that much harder. I was then criticised by a burly Turkish chap called Naim for holding my English lessons in English. Entschildigung Sie bitte! When handed a text, he raised his eyebrows and asked "All in English again, eh?"
No, actually Einstein I thought today we'd have a surprise, 'guest language' in our lesson. Today's text is in Mongolian... You'll observe that this has unfamiliar characters and reads vertically, from top to bottom. Translations on my desk in 30 minutes please.
Said person then went on to make sexually explicit remarks, causing one of my 2 young female pupils to blush profusely and ask if she could go back to the main room. So I did the gentlemanly thing and threw him out instead. That's chivalry 1, rudeness and moral decay 6,000,091*. Result!

*This tally only includes this week so far, and probably is an accurate reflection of how things are.

I read through all my old entries earlier. There haven't been many, and the time seems to have gone quite quickly overall; it's almost as if I blinked in September, and it's now the end of April, and I have about five weeks (only three of them teaching due to stupid Schleswig-Holstein holidays) left, all told.
Anyway, reading the entries made me think that although I've really tried to make the best of this year, I haven't always been the luckiest person. What with the type of school, the accident, the accommodation cock-ups, the university turning me away, and the sporadic violence, I feel I've done well to stick the placement out.
However, over the past few months, I'd just started to enjoy school. One class in particular I very much enjoy working with, and I feel I've made a real difference to learning English for a couple of them.
Today, I learnt that I am to devote most of my energies over the next six weeks to 'a project with Fritz Voss, in a European context.' So right at the end, with only three weeks of teaching left, I have to leave all my favourite classes and lessons, which means most of them won't even know I've left until after I have. Why? What on earth is the point?
I have simply had enough.

After literally weeks of badgering by Frau Wiesner, today I finally gave in and did 'my' lesson for BM-06-3. I wasn't reluctant because of laziness particularly; it's simply that I've absolutely had enough of preparing things and actually caring about people's education, only to be kicked in the teeth.
This class are difficult, as most of them will admit (the difficult ones with cocky smirks, the not so difficult ones with weary resignedness), and the teacher does have a habit of attempting to offload the discipline problems on to me.
But, the lesson went really well; we had a map, a list of suspects with pictures, times, and a back story, as well as a list of questions.
Of the people who couldn't work out who did it by actually reading and fully understand the whole text (which was 22 out of 23), only the 2 girls actually realised that one of the 3 female characters had committed the crime; their reasons for suspecting? "They looked very ugly, evil..." It is nice to chat with them, see what they understand and help them understand more if possible.
They do make me laugh. It's days like this I shall miss when I leave. Which is not something you'll hear me say very often.

Today I left work at twenty past nine in the morning and got the bus home. I am in my room now, and it's just starting to get very hot outside.
Today's exciting tasks included helping a Turkish boy differentiate between 'as' and 's' (complicated stuff, obviously), and translating the word kitchen.

Yesterday, I had been back on German soil for just over an hour when I left Kiel Hbf, purchased a bus ticket and boarded the number 11 to Wik, Nord-Ostsee Kanal. A few yards down the road, the bus was cut up by some foolish woman on a scooter, and really had to brake, causing an elderly man to be flung from his seat and hurt quite badly.
The woman on the scooter gave us all a thumbs up as the bus passed her, then sped off. The driver had to file a report and call the police, but no one had got her registration.
I then had to walk a whole stop with my flight bag and suitcase.
I think that's German for 'welcome back'.

Time for a general rant about all facets of my life here; I fear one is long overdue. If I get 10 comments or more, I also promise to make the updates a more regular occurrence.
The gauntlet has been thrown down! Don't read and not comment because you feel you have nothing of worth to say; I have absolutely nothing of worth to say, yet I still maintain at least three web pages committed to spreading my creed.
However, in all seriousness, even if you simply write 'I read that, thank you', I will feel far more inclined to update in the future. Don't 'say what you see' (to quote the legendary Roy Walker of Catchphrase fame); say what you feel!

I realised that perhaps it was time for an update as I can think of several people who are not up to speed with my latest anecdotes; because sometimes, interesting things DO happen in Schleswig-Holstein which are not related to crime or injury.

Anyway, the title is a quote; not the most lengthy or profound, granted, but then it was uttered by a Welshman. This Welshman was an FSA (language assistant) in Hamburg, but he cracked a few weeks ago and went off back to Cardiff. He was very unhappy because he'd been placed in a primary school, and his duties, among other things, included standing next to the teacher during PE lessons for five year olds and translating all of said teacher's instructions into English. This was also at around 8am, so you can kind of see his point.
His theory is that the 'immersion' method of teaching languages (which for untrained assistants like us, and indeed for many trained professionals, involves standing and talking 'at' a sea of blank faces who clearly don't understand you in the hope that they'll magically pick up the words without translation or writing being necessary) is the most effective way to learn.
My theory is that the teaching of languages in Germany is ridiculous, and needs a complete overhaul.

Many of you will recall your own language lessons at school; take a text book that was printed before Maggie Thatcher was in No. 10, write the thirtieth letter to 'your penfriend, Claude', throw in some endless lists of irregular verbs and amusing tape recordings, and you pretty much have all the ingredients to create a room full of bored, disillusioned people who never want to learn a language again in their lives.
One of my teachers, in whose 'BFS' (don't even ask) class I spend one third of my working week (i.e. two blocks of an hour and a half each) is a lovely woman in every respect, but seemingly a complete and utter fool when it comes to teaching English. We spend half an hour without fail going through the 'aims' of the lesson... Surely this is time which could be put to better use?
The sad thing is that I spend most of my time sitting there dozing off along with the pupils, when it really is much better if I can take a small group of the six or so pupils who are actually interested and willing to learn, regardless of their level of English, off into a separate room and help them, as we can talk about things they are actually interested in and will inspire them to learn English.
But, no. We have to stick to the curriculum; the curriculum insists we teach these 15-23 year old metal work apprentices about applying for a job and writing a CV in English.
Now, for those deluded left-wingers amongst us who think that Britain is a 'racist' place, welcome, my friends, to Germany, the land that political correctness forgot. If you put Mustafa as your surname and Gaarden as your address, you're unlikely to be invited to too many interviews in Germany, let alone dream of escaping to an English-speaking nation.

To be fair, I'm not going soft; 65% of the class are non-German, 80% are scum, and we're all basically trapped in what amounts to a huge scheme to keep down the unemployment figures. Several pupils can't speak or write German very well, and even more have what it's fashionable to call 'severe behavioural problems', i.e. they are disruptive, attention seeking little w****rs, who will go out of their way to disrupt the class, argue with the staff and be malicious to the nicer, more conscientious pupils.
In any case, even when I am given a group, logic is not allowed to play any part in the selection process; either I am expected to take the most disruptive pupils and solve the teacher's discipline problems temporarily, or take a group who speak no English at all. I always feel my position is far better suited to chatting to those who have some fairly good English, building a vocabulary and getting them used to 'proper' use, syntax and pronounciation. But it seems that sometimes this teacher goes out of her way to hinder me...
For example, there are two girls out of the twenty six or so pupils in this particular class. Both have come to Germany within the past four years, one from Turkey and one from Iraq. The one from Turkey speaks absolutely no English at all (and is in fact struggling with German), and her friend can sometimes help her when they're both in my group.
The teacher's solution to this is not only to seperate them and give me the worst one (so I can sit her quietly in the corner with my translator, which she seems to think makes her awfully special), but to then criticise; I took in the European languages phrasebook that Mr Buchanan gave me as a leaving present and showed her the Turkish section, to be informed by the teacher that 'dual language tutoring' was a crime in a German state school. Well which retard sent someone who can't speak German to one then? Why isn't she in a special school for those with German as a second language?

My role is to make learning English interesting, something I go out of my way to do. But against such odds, it's hardly likely to be successful. Whenever anyone asks me if the assistantship has made me want to go into teaching, I can only laugh; to face these insurmountable odds and stresses full time would be absolutely unbearable. How does one tie in their hopes for the 'good' pupils with their frustration for the 'bad'?
On this subject, one of said female pupils mentioned above wants to be a Paediatrician. I asked Ute Pulss (aka the devil itself), whose husband is a Paediatrician and runs a successful practice, for advice.
Her reply (in front of this girl) was; "I shan't imagine anyone from here will ever qualify for such a good job."
Aren't teachers supposed to inspire and motivate? Particularly the better pupils, the ones who have a hope of avoiding dole or prison.
I am simply at a loss.

Kiel maybe located on Germany's 'Ostsee' coast, but it seems to be doing a rather good impression of the Wild West at the moment.
My friend Josh was beaten to a blooy pulp at a bus stop in Kiel on Saturday night, simply for being an Auslander (foreigner). His assailant appeared to be high on drugs, and after punching him to the ground (this one punch fractured his left cheek, killed the nerve in four of his teeth, damaged a facial nerve, and caused a haemorrage in his left eye), set about kicking him, whilst ranting about 'the foreigners'.
Another friend tried to help, and got many blows for his trouble until the police arrived. I suppose fortunately, I'd wandered off to go to the toilet, so missed the entire thing. Part of me wishes I'd been there to help, but as Josh, ever the kinder of the two, points out, it would only have ended with three people hurt.
Oddly enough, despite the fact the police took statements and arrested the attacker, still covered in Josh's blood a few streets away, they then released him into a taxi and said 'he'd be getting something in the post'.
I thought kicking seven colours out of someone because he's foreign is a 'hate crime' (as opposed to that other famous kind, a crime committed in love), and so worthy of being taken ten times more seriously, but never mind.

This morning, I went to school, beginning to feel slightly better. I had my favourite class, the one where even though many pupils are immigrants who can hardly speak German they seem to respond well to the lessons, and are generally very friendly.
So I didn't exactly come home whistling, but you get the idea. I went to Karstadt, bought my sister's birthday presents, then went to my local post office, Elendsredder, to send them off.
Immeasurably dull, right?
Well, wrong, seemingly, for even such innocent pursuits can lead to me being made miserable for some reason.
Perhaps I do genuinely deserve to be, who knows?
I walked into the post office, and took my place in the queue, as is customary in civilised society. However, it seems I'd stepped over an invisible marker of some sort, for a tall man browsing postcards to my right stepped in and warned me, in German, that I was in his place. I simply nodded, fully accepting that he'd stepped out to browse. I still shuffled forward with the woman in front, to avoid leaving a ridiculously large gap, but this obvious threat prompted him to burst forward and warn me again, hardly in the most polite fashion.
I take a long time to anger normally, but this was going to far, so I turned around and told him that I understood, he'd got there first, it was ok.
I mean in all seriousness, what was the problem?
However, when he was finished talking to his friend, he came and barged in front, and started ranting at me in German. Well, not ranting, that would almost have been better, but sort of having a go without wishing to draw the attention of those around us.
I used the trick I save for all retards and aggressive beggars, pretty much, and told him that I didn't understand.
He replied, "do you speak English?"
"I AM English."
"Oh yeah, you look British." This was said with the worst attitude and contempt imaginable.
"I'll take that as a compliment, shall I?"
"I certainly wouldn't, buddy," again said with the same contemptible sneer.
"So what about you then?"
He turned around to face me properly. "I'm an African-American."
No shit - the arrogance dripping from him from the start should have marked him out as a citizen of the good old US of A.
I simply nodded. "Whereabouts are you from?"
"You think Africa?"
"No... In America?"
He then murmured something unintelligible, of which I picked up 'ork'.
"New York?"
"NO! ORC, IT'S IN NEW JERSEY!"
Suddenly, everyone is looking at us... A black man and a white man shouting in English, one 6' 3'' and the other apparently looking 'very British'.
"Oh, ok, I've never heard of it..."
"MAYBE I OUGHT TO TAKE YOU OUTSIDE AND TEACH YOU A LESSON, FELLA."
I was tempted to reply, 'American geography, perhaps?', but the soft stuff had seemingly hit the fan enough as it was.
Remarkably, his turn then came, and he seemed to forget about teaching me things and concentrated on ranting at the cashier, in English, about the address on his parcel. None of the workers there have any English, but never mind.
As I passed behind him on my way out, he turned around from his business and informed me that I'd better 'watch myself' in future, cos he'd remember me.

Now, can anyone shed any light on this for me; just what did I do wrong? I don't think not wanting to be treated like dirt in public for no good reason is an answer, either.
Just what on earth is wrong with this place?

Not too much to tell, really. Yesterday, I went to see a free film, a parody of Hitler called 'Mein Fuhrer'.
This was free to me because it was a pre-screening for teachers; apparently a chance for us to se if we would like to take some classes of our pupils, because evidently, younger German children do not know enough about Hitler and what he was responisble for.
I find that very hard to believe (as someone who learnt about the Second World War and Nazism from 13 until around 18), but apparently it's the case.

Other than that and very stupid drinking games, there's not much else to tell at all (I have only been back a week), so I thought I would post a funny story from the airport.
Like most people who have been living on Earth for the past few months, I am more than aware that many items are now forbidden to be carried in one's hand luggage; seemingly penknives, scissors and even liquids are not desired upon the aircraft, lest they be used to take the crew hostage mid-flight and crash the aeroplane into the nearest tall structure.

So, having banished my toothpaste, deodorant and even orange juice to my actual luggage upon my return to Germany, imagine my surprise at this exchange which took place in the security queue at London Stansted;

Security guard (after X-raying jacket of the man in front of me):
This is a bit heavy, isn't mate? What's in here, then?

Man: Oh, nothing mate.

Security guard: Feels really heavy though, like there's a tool in here...

Man: Oh, well there is my spanner.

SG: Spanner?

Man: Yeah, just my spanner; I'm going to need it when I get there, you see.

SG: Sorry mate, you can't take a spanner on the aircraft... If you need it you're going to have to take it back through and post it to yourself.

Man: Oh, come on mate - I just need it when I get there, I've got work to do.

SG: Sorry, mate; I can't let you take it on, it's classed as an offensive weapon.

Man: A SPANNER? An offensive weapon? Oh, what is the world coming to?!

*Leaves the spanner at security and flounces off.*

Now, two questions;
1) Why wasn't it picked up in the X-ray;

2) What sort of retard thinks that although they can't take a bottle of water on board the aircraft, a spanner will be perfectly acceptable?

After a lovely long weekend in Aachen, during which the Netherlands was visited, yesterday again enhanced my experences of being abroad.
Whilst attempting to open a bottle of wine (and stone cold sober I might add), the neck snapped off, puncturing my left hand.

The wound bled profusely, but I thought it was ok, treating it with a good old-fashioned plaster.
James and Martin tried to persuade me otherwise, however; not only was blood seeping out of the plaster quite steadily, when I removed it and looked at the cut I could see... Well, I suppose the technical term is 'stuff', inside my hand.
A nerve perhaps, or maybe even a tendon.

It's at times like this one's thoughts turn to what on earth they're going to do, and my solution was simple; wait until the morning when the Apotheke would be open, and try to get it sorted then.
I was again advised that this would not be a good idea, so decided to dial 112 (the German emergency number), although this seemed awfully dramatic.
The man didn't speak English and I didn't know the German for 'cut', so after much confusion when I was continually asking for the 'Rettungsdienst' (literally 'life saving service') and attempting to look up 'cut' on my translator without bleeding on it, he told me they "couldn't help me because they didn't understand."
Charming.

Ten minutes later, the plaster was sodden. Not being much of a hero in gory wound situations I decided that I had to try 112 again.
The time, "sprechen Sie Englisch bitte?" was more than adequate for some reason; they simply asked my location and said they were sending a car.
I didn't have too much time to contemplate spending all night sitting in some dingy hospital waiting area, because within three minutes I could see blue lights speeding towards the building.
Efficiency, thy name is Deutschland.

I locked up and hurried down to be greeted by two friendly, English speaking police officers (one a very attractive blonde).
Despite being 'tooled up' and always dressing like they're on riot duty (except for the ones who favour the 'Village People' Polizei leather jackets), German police tend to be not only friendly, but also far more reluctant to be provoked and react to situations that might annoy the police in Britain.
Anyway, upon seeing the cut they seemed awfully concerned that someone 'might have done that to me'.
I assured them it was just an accident, and they said it would probably need stitches, so they'd take me to a clinic to avoid tying up an ambulance.
So, I was bundled into the back of what is officially called a 'Polizeistreifenwagen'. Streifen means 'stripe', so it's simply a reference to a marked police vehicle.
This one, as so often in Germany, was a little VW van (what one of my friends here calls the 'Grun & Weiss Partybus').
Sadly, I neglected to realise that the sliding door in the middle would be on the opposite side, so made a total tit of myself getting in, then found myself sitting on the woman's uniform coat.

Now, I've never had the misfortune to be transported in an ambulance, and I've never served in the police force, fire brigade nor been arrested, so I have never travelled in an emergency vehicle with 'blues and twos' going (indeed, Belgium was my first ever time in a police car full stop).
So, to my delight the Polizei decided that either my injury was so serious or their time was so precious that this step was required.
We raced through the (frankly, pathetically empty) streets of Kiel for 15 minutes, before they swerved into the emergency ambulance bay of a clinic, lights still going.
I had a taste of the vehicle's actual purpose when I went to disembark, to discover that not only was there no door handle on the inside, but I was staring through a bloody big grille.

The police showed me in and left, and then I was processed by the receptionist. I had pretty much resigned myself to the idea of spending all night in this place; however, I was only one of two patients in a waiting room designed for over twenty.
After 15 minutes of waiting (the blow being softened by TV and magazines) I was shown to a doctor, who assessed the injury; Hilariously, his English abilities came about 'through being trained in Los Angeles'; hopefully not in 'The Nick Riviera School of Animal Medicine', I might add. Still, better than western Poland...
I was then x-rayed, aneasthetised, injected, given three stitches and a tetanus (a shot in both hips).
All this took just under two hours, unbelievably. I was back in my room an hour and fifty five minutes after I left it, including a 25 minute walk home.

Pretty good service all round, I thought. Now my hand is swathed in bandages and I have to go back tomorrow to check for infection. It hurts a great deal, but at least my hand doesn't have its inner workings on display anymore, for which I'm thankful.

I've always had a vague interest in Germany, as you know. Some might even call it a fascination.
Historically, culturally, some sort of conviction that a kinship existed between our two nations, despite the events of the recent past.
Now that I'm here, I feel even more that there are some things which the Germans and the English have in common, that in some ways we're very alike; but there are some things I find here which are just strange, scary and alien (as I've mentioned previously, an inexplicable love for carbonated water is one).

It seems that the average German shares a fascination for the English which is not really reciprocated by many of our countrymen in the same way; most views we have of the Germans are either comical or centre on goose-stepping, 'Village People' uniforms, barked orders (their language really is perfect for it) and militaristic annexations of surrounding territory.
Despite liking the average German and his/her country a great deal, I can't quite get over these myself. However, I try my very best to be respectful (when the postman saw me taking pictures of the Nazi eagle which remains over the door of the finance ministry, I smiled brightly and greeted him 'moin!') and not dwell on the past too much.
If friends and I ever get tipsy and feel the need to bring up history's most famous Reichskanzler, we refer to him as 'you know who', in order to flummox any surrounding German and avoid causing offence (and possibly an incident of some description).

Most Germans seem to have successfully moved on, although occasionnally the past creeps up; there was good old Dieter, Famila Wik's resident alcoholic, who spits on the ground when the Poles are mentioned ('they come here and take, they think we owe them because of the past'... That sounds awfully familiar, on reflection). Fritz's bafflement at the Royal Navy's continued presence in the Kieler Fjord followed a similar vein ('the war ended sixty years ago; at least, for us Germans it did...' He didn't seem to acknowledge that until a few years ago Kiel really was on the frontline of the Cold War).
Added to this was the confusion of one of my teachers about my interest in seeing Kiel's war cemetery, and the sadness of Wolfgang, my headmaster, at the fact that the outside world ignores all of Germany's recent achievements in favour of dwelling on what he calls (in common with Fritz) 'the Nazi time'.

Well, on Friday evening I attended a house party, which was predictably predominantly German (there were several very beautiful blondes I predictably failed to get the attention of, too, but first things first).
Adolf himself actually came up in conversation twice, and on neither occasion was I the culprit. The first time was with a hilariously drunk young man named Toby, who described in excellent although somewhat excitable English how funny he finds OUR capacity to drink.
Then the conversation took a new turn; he told me how interested he is in England and the English, how fascinating he finds my decision to come here, how interesting he finds my accent... Also how he's upset, because he 'watched The Producers' the other day, and feels that all German people are associated with Hitler, the Nazis and the Second World War.
Well, it's hard to deny that the stereotpes and associations exist, particularly for someone like me; I was practically raised by people with direct experiences of the war and especially the Blitz. What many people overlook nowadays is that those people were genuinely frightened; just because we won does not mean at all that victory was always guaranteed; in fact anyone who knows anything at all about the subject realises that we were actually bloody lucky, and that things could so easily have gone the other way, but for luck and some poor decisions by Adolf.
However, it seems that this boy was genuinely upset by this supposed obsession with the past which we in Britain are guilty of.
I discussed it at length with him; in my opinion the way in which particularly the British and Russians saw victory as their last moment of glory and greatness; it's been decline ever since for most of us, and for us that started directly after the war, with the humiliations inflicted by our good old 'ally' the Yanks in return for defending freedom. something they now take all the credit for.

Anyway, shockingly this subject came up again later, with a different person; a trainee policeman named Arne. In his view, Germans were very embarrassed about being viewed as the 'sons and daughters of Hitler'. He then went on to discuss with me at length how Germany's falling birthrates were a tragedy and would prevent her greatness from ever coming to the fore again.
Fairplay to him for bringing up a subject which most people don't have the balls for, but a slightly hilarious overlap of subject matter, one must admit. Perhaps he was trying to say that in his opinion the unchecked situation might lead to another Hitler, the way some think it's going in Russia, I'm not sure. But hey, logic doesn't affect comedy, right?

Generally speaking, I love the German people. They are a mixture of things; on the one hand so much more formal than us as a whole, but on the other so much more friendly in many ways.
When I got off the bus on Thursday, the woman in front of me simply collapsed. No one looked the other way and walked off; we all helped her to her feet, caught her and set her on a bench when she fell again, and then I and someone in my class flagged down a police van.
However, in England I suspect that many people would have simply looked the other way and kept walking (it never used to be like that; I remember when my mum picked me up from school once, and an elderly man kept falling over; another car stopped and drove out of their way to get him home).
One thing I do find here is that 'little Hitler' types (supermarket supervisers, petty management etc) tend to be even more self important and convinced of their own gifts and superiority than they are at home; a number of them do seem to actively look down on foreigners, including my good self.
But, on balance, this isn't such a bad place to live.

A very curious experience today.

I got the bus from school to the Hauptbahnhof, then from there the 501 to Schleusenstraße. On this second journey, I gave up my seat for an elderly lady who boarded with her dog.
Imagine my surprise when, instead of taking the seat which I'd so generously given up, she allowed her dog to settle on it.

I found this borderline offensive - until she pulled out a bottle of gin and started ranting about old women being allowed seats.
I settled down, until she let out a piercing, blood-cuedling scream halfway through the journey...

First things first - I finally have my phone sorted. Expect a group email with the number very soon. This is excellent news, because it means I can actually cheaply keep in touch with my German friends (and those English people with German phones).

Last night was very random indeed. My friend Josh's family came to Kiel, so I went out with them and Matt to show them around.
We had an informal tour (interspersed with delights from Matt such as: "This is the Ministry of Justice. It'S usually lit up, but as you can see, tonight it isn't."), had dinner in a restaurant; and then it was Josh's turn to think of what we might like to do. Bizarrely enough, this idea turned out to be Zucholsky's, a scuzzy club not unlike a large version of the Manor Club with many rooms (or, for those in the know, what I imagine the Krazy House must be like).
It cost us €5 to get in (well, it cost me €3 because I have a forged Schülerausweiss), and then it all began, the club nightmare... Dingy and dank, booming music from the ghettoes... Well, and seeing as it was about half nine not a person in sight.
Apart from the barmaid, dressed like a low class prostitute in a mini-skirt and fishnet tights.

Well, as the evening progressed I must say I had rather a lot of vodka and lemon drinks, so desperate was I to somehow fit in with the others and have a good time in this place.
I was talking to Josh at the bar when I noticed a lovely blonde fittie wearing a black velvet choker (of all things) and the sort of tiny pink skirt which might look more fitting on a ballerina.
When she bent over the bar to order a drink, my infatuation for the evening was certainly sealed.
I made the mistake of mentioning this to Josh - I'm not really sure who I can compare him to for reference here.

Anyway, he dragged me over there despite the fact she was with a male and female friend, and I ended up dancing with her.
Her name was Elke, and she's 19, and incredibly beautiful. However, we had to leave, because Josh's train was due - a tragedy of unimaginable magnitude.

Well everyone, it seems my absence in the world of electronic journals has been noticed, so just a brief explanation as to the current situation.

In Dorf I currently have no internet access (although hopefully a laptop arriving tomorrow will change all that), despite lugging my PC all the way across Europe. Although it still works perfectly, the DVD drives need updating, so currently I can't play any of the DVDs I lugged all the way across Europe, either.
So, I can only use the internet in the Lehrerzimmer at school or by paying in the library.
I always feel really guilty about using the Lehrerzimmer's only computer, even if no one else wants to use it, so I find myself rushing through email replies and making no time to update this.

Not that there really is anything to update, as such - my classes are fine (except one group of utter delinquents), I quite like my temporary flat and am enjoying being able to cook for myself.
I wish the German was progressing faster, as my status as a Dummkopf often leaves me feeling guilty and isolated, but hey, it's not as if I have nobody at all.
On the first of November I move into a Studentenwohnheim, the Wirtschaftakademie, and am hoping to meet some interesting people there.

For the past few days I have been violently ill, and as such have now missed four lessons at the school - and I don't even have a phone to tell anyone why. Oh dear.
I have bought a second phone and an ALDI-Talk SIM card, but sadly the registration process is too busy driving me round the bend to work effectively, so when that will be up and running is anyone's guess.
The way things seem to go for me here, it's probably another seventy odd pounds down the drain.

Anyway, that's how things stand everyone - I'm currently pretty much living the life I lived at home, but here.

Ok, so for six weeks I am off to Dorf, about ten or fifteen minutes (by bus) north of Holtenau, where I currently am.
Good news and bad news - a reasonable monthly price, but electricity not included (in the price, I might add), along with no phone and no internet.
The buses are mainline and run until late, so I can still get out and about relatively freely and see my friends.

The person who rented me the room officially has the world's funniest name... Faulke Blitza-Ihlgank. Legend.
Like many German men of a certain age, he looks as though he may have once been a children's television presenter.

This was not as funny as yesterday, however, when the binmen came and the one riding on the back of the dustcart was THE spitting image of Hulk Hogan.
This country continues to delight me in new and astounding ways.

Oh, and on my way back from Dorf I smiled at a lovely blonde riding a horse - there is a stables and riding school near my place! Posh blonde totty like here, I wonder?