Now before I get started on this post properly, I need to say that I know the two “ss” of “Fuss” in my title should be one of squiggly things that looks Kim Kardashian’s boobs from the side view. However, I’ve no idea how to get a squiggly boob thing and life is too short to worry about it. So before any of you language teachers (that’s you Susann Fruendt) make any formal complaint I’m lodging my excuses now. Okay?
Right, so the background to this post is that I stupidly said to my writer’s group that if anyone spotted a typo in my last post I would write a blog post of their choice. Now, I had already self-flagellated as a result of spotting two typos in the first line so I didn’t think it could get any worse. I was wrong. Because language teacher and writer Susann Fruendt spotted a typo in the TITLE. Then, to top it all, the proof reader for my short story collection, the lovely Eve, came on line and spotted another THREE typos in the text.
Now, if I was dyslexic, my mistakes would be acceptable and I know all you wonderful readers out there wouldn’t mind the occasional Mrs T balls-up. After all, you don’t come here for grammar lessons just mindless drivel from a slightly disturbed woman. Am I right? However, too many typos is just unacceptable and makes look me look like an complete dimwit and, anyway, I’m not dyslexic – I’m normal. Well, apart from the small amount of my brain I found seeping out of my ear the other day.
So anyway, as a result of this challenge I now have to write a post about the German football team without mentioning The War. (That’s the Second World War. Obviously.) But, being the clever sticks I am, I thought maybe I could write about German football and the First World War.
Hurrah!
Then I thought maybe that would be cheating and Susann would be over here like a shot kicking me up the arse. So, just for Susann I am not going mention The War at all in this post about The War the German football team.
Boo.
So the German football team. Great. Lots of stuff instantly springs to mind.
Dah, de da, da, da, da, da, da, da hums da da *hangs out washing* da da da da da da *on the Siegfried line* da de dee da
Did you know that, apparently, the German football team lost the 1966 World Cup? That was a real fight battle contest. Of course, I didn’t actually watch it, as I was still in my nappies, but I do remember hearing my father cry out, “By God, we’ve won!” My mother didn’t watch it though as she was in the kitchen with my siblings and I attempting to make frankfurters to mark the special occasion. We Brits like to do those things – celebrate other cultures by sampling their food and drink.
I believe London Mayor, Boris Johnson, has spent a lot of time sampling German food and drink.
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| A German football supporter. At the 1966 World Cup. |
So German football. It’s great. And I love all those German footballers’ names. Like Van der Fock. Or is that the Dutch? I don’t know. They all sound and look the same to me: they all have two legs and wear shorts that are unacceptably long. Except for in the 1970s when the shorts were unacceptably short. I mean – they were so short when the footballers fell to the ground clutching their groins you knew it was because their shorts were too tight and not because they’d been kneed in the nuts.
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| A German footballer at the 1966 World Cup discovers a frankfurter on his seat. |
So anyway, I gather the German football team are pretty good. They might even have won a couple of things. Well so I hear on the football grapevine. Yeah, that’s right – me and Becks (that’s David Beckham – him and me are pretty close) went out on the town and Becks confided in me about the Germans being pretty hot with their balls and that he was thinking about taking up an offer to manage the German football team. Apparently, they’ve offered him a whole year’s supply of frankfurters and the opportunity to cut the ribbon on the new Aldi Store in Berlin.
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| “You British you think you are so funny. But you are just crazy!” |
Anyway, Becks was thinking it over. He was keen but unfortunately Vicky wasn’t. She was concerned about German fashion and it being a little too…formal. But it’s a great opportunity for Becks so he asked me to try and persuade Vicky. So I texted her with this message:
Hi Vicky, Don’t worry about German fashion. Berlin is really close to Paris. You could be there in a few hours. No one will stop you. It’ll be easy.
Vicky texted back with this message:
You’re right Mrs T. As ever! I could go by train. I’ve heard German trains are really efficient and always run on time.
So I texted back:
Great news, Vicky! Becks will be pleased. And you’re right – the trains are fast in Germany. I ordered a whole crate of frankfurters and they arrived in no time at all. The only delay was at the Channel.
So there you go, breaking news from Mrs T – Becks is on his way to Berlin and Vicky is on her way to Paris and all because of German football. Who says we British don’t love other cultures?
In fact, we Brits love almost of all of Europe. There’s actually a sign on the Dover Cliffs which reads “Free Welfare, Tea and Scones.”
Of course, it could all change if UKIP (that’s the UK Independence Party) get elected at the next General Election. They’ll be no more frankfurters and Stollen imported from Germany and no more crotchless knickers from France. We Brits will be on our own again.
How sad is that?
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| A German footballer supporter at his day job. “I ‘ave a secret weapon and I am not afraid to use it on you, Mrs T.” |
