2. Ditto the rules of cricket, which I was previously unaware that I actually knew at all, let alone could chatter on about for a good half an hour. Nothing like a bit of latent knowledge.
3. The same does not, however, apply to my knowledge of the state of the Canadian oil industry. Or of suicide rates amongst the Eskimo population.
3. The same does not, however, apply to my knowledge of the state of the Canadian oil industry. Or of suicide rates amongst the Eskimo population.
4. Documents required to have an MOT in Germany: certificate of motor insurance, registration certificate, breakdown cover and a COC certificate. The latter can be likened to the Holy Grail in terms of ease of availability and, although it has not completely eluded me (my name derives from Guinevere, after all), for some reason my copy is in Dutch, which is, well, erm, not particularly helpful.
5. How to [theoretically] light the ''Kamin''. This does, however, appear to be a refined art which I haven't quite got the grasp of yet, and I am still at the stage in my Kamin-lighting-learning-process where I seem to do a rather good job of continually un-lighting it.
5. How to [theoretically] light the ''Kamin''. This does, however, appear to be a refined art which I haven't quite got the grasp of yet, and I am still at the stage in my Kamin-lighting-learning-process where I seem to do a rather good job of continually un-lighting it.
6. The Bodensee is beaut. Being situated on the borders of Germany, Austria and Switzerland, though, prepare also to be in a constant state of confusion as to which country you are actually currently in.
7. Indication at roundabouts
is minimal if one could call it at all existent. Waiting to find out which
direction cars are actually intending to go in is, however, a big NO
NO. No, instead of waiting, the rule seems to be one of: ''just drive. And honk at everyone who isn't doing likewise''. Needless to say, this seems to result in roundabout traffic being fairly stationary due to the fact that everyone has ''just driven'' at exactly the same time.
8. There are certain situations
that just are not ideal for a Brit. Oh, dear Aldi, how your shopping-trolley-scrums
do scare me slightly. Yours, a flattened customer squashed into a metal crate
at the side of the aisle.
9. Schloß Neuschwanstein is
neither pink (a la the Disneyland Paris castle) nor resembles Gondor (Lord of
the Rings). Five year old me, I had trusted your memory for so long.
10. There are really far easier
things to attempt to draw than Schloß Neuschwanstein. That said, though, I have
gained a new found respect for its builders. A few less towers would have made
my life a tad easier, but props to you for managing it, Ludwig II.
12. How to carve a pumpkin. (Even if, to match my ungrizzlyness- yes that is now a word- it did feature multiple stars and a smiling moon).
13. How to use a Swiss Army
knife.
14. Funerals (ditto heart
attacks) are grim no matter what country they take place in.
15. It is possible to read
for fun. I'm sure that I knew how to do this at one point (in fact, make that
positive- I was that child who read
all the way through Harry Potter on the day it came out AFTER waiting in the
queue for its midnight release), but somewhere in the midst of this further-education-and-reading-lists-malarkey
it has become a foreign concept.
16. Knock knock jokes (even if they are really bad) are hilarious when you unexpectedly find a book of them amongst unwanted English resources in a staff room. My highlight so far has been:Knock knock.
Who's there?
Diane.
Diane who?
Dai will be angry when Wales lose.
17. My lack of an accent
complying with Queen's English results in some fairly interesting
guesses as to which alien part of the world I actually originate from. Guesses
so far have included New York and, the particularly English-speaking, Munich.
18. How to feed a monkey.
19. There is always ''Stau''
on the A3. It is, in fact, Hessen's ''Lieblingsstau'' (according to local radio), although I assume that this is a relationship which can be likened to the metaphor of the M25 being England's biggest car park.
20. How to live a life full
of risks. Namely, how to successfully spend the afternoon at a giant playground
(intended mainly for those under 130cm) situated comfortably within the
catchment area of my school. To expand upon my definition of ''successfully'',
I mean that I encountered none of my dearest pupils whilst riding around in
[very slow] circles on a giant pink duck. (I did, however, encounter one later in
the day, but this was at a supermarket and, although the 1kg bag of
multi-coloured marshmallows that I was carrying at the time did somewhat prevent
it from being my most dignified moment, at least my year 5 missed my being stuck
at the top of a dysfunctional ferris wheel).
21. Denglish provides much
amusement. Some of my current favorite examples include: ''die Bromance des
Jahres'' (Voice of Germany) and ''LadyFit'' (a local gym), not to forget the classic ''das Happy-End'' or ''der McJob''.
22. Germany looks remarkably
different without Angela Merkel peering out from many an election poster.
24. The girl who had a phobia of dogs at age 12 has now turned into an expert dog walker.
25. As someone with self-confessed arachnophobia, navigating with a confused Sat-Nav around a town that I don't know gains a whole new particularly-tricky-dimension when said town has decided to put up posters advertising a ''Spinnen-Ausstellung'' on every single lamppost. I JUST WANTED TO KNOW HOW TO GET HOME, I DIDN'T WANT TO SEE MULTIPLE HAIRY ORANGE TARANTULAS.
27. If I had a cent for every time that Nena says ''ich freue mich'' on the Voice of Germany, I would be well on my way to affording the ''Ponyhof'' that she also mentions so frequently.
28. ''Ee knov'' is a much more exciting option than plain-old ''I know''.
29. In Germany people wear earplugs at concerts. Yes, as someone who normally works by the logic of ''I paid to hear the music, so I will hear the music'' it confused me slightly, too.
30. It is official. My Year Abroad has turned me into a to-do-list-juggling-form-filling-machine-administration-ninja.
31. In a country where winter brings with it the requirement of special car types (''Winterreifen''), winter clothing is also a concept not to be underestimated. In my attempt to pack lightly, this part of my wardrobe (namely ''Wasserdicht'' shoes with ''Profil'' and anything thicker than a cardigan) is lacking slightly. German winter, I will conquer you even if it does mean that I have to wear all of my 5 cardigans at once Michelin-man-style. AND, in doing so, you will not hear me complain. Not even once. Namely because, after realising that my go-to conversation starter is normally something along the lines of ''I'm cold'', I have made a Year Abroad resolution to tame the Brit in me and not complain about the weather.
32. With my lack of practical clothing, I at least tick some boxes in the fact that I appear to conform to the German stereotype of British clothing (''lots of layers and lots of flowery patterns'') sufficiently.
33. Ditto my ginger-hair-and-freckles-combo making me, in general, every part the stereotypical Brit.
34. Selecting the calligraphy option on the Smart Board automatically makes you look like a handwriting expert. (Please note, however, this only works if the board has been calibrated correctly. If not, it just looks like you've heartlessly killed many a spider).
35. The answer is always ''Knoblauch''. It's a good job that it's one of the best words ever because it is everywhere: as a surname, as a business name and, of course, in food.
Kamin- fireplace
Stau- traffic jam
Lieblingsstau- favourite traffic jam
die Bromance des Jahres- the bromance of the year
das Happy-End- the happy endING
der McJob- low-pay-job
Spinnen-Ausstellung- spider exhibition
ich freue mich- I am glad
Ponyhof- pony farm
Winterreifen- winter car tyres
Wasserdicht- waterproof
mit Profil- with good treads
Knoblauch- garlic
