5 things in my German flat that annoy me

I had some great intentions for today’s blog post, but thanks to the actions of some unnamed provocateurs my weekend ended in the early hours of Sunday morning. Without going into too much detail, I will say that I’ve learned a valuable piece of information; never go to karaoke with a Scotsman. Furthermore, never find yourself singing any song by Chumbawumba (badly) at five in the morning, surrounded by bewildered Germans and angry looking U.S soldiers. In the end you will suffer cringe inducing recollections for the next 48 hours. So, instead of an article of wit, insight and near Shakespearian levels of verbal dexterity, I took photos of those items that most annoy me, especially when I’m hung-over.


German Bottled Water

photo 1

Few people know about this outside of Germany, but all the water that comes out of the taps here is near toxic. Sure you can wash in it, but most Germans would rather die of dehydration than suffer the indignity of drinking from a tap. At least that’s all I can surmise from living in a country where bottled water reaches near mythic status. When I lived in Britain, the only people who drank bottled water were either fancy dan southerners with fashionable hair, health nuts or students who had accidently drunk their body weight in cheap alco-pops. Sadly, this is what annoys me the most, after living here for two years I can’t help myself. It doesn’t help that my girlfriend is constantly reminding me to drink more water, so much so that I now suspect she is secretly working for the manufacturer. I never stood a chance.

Why can’t we share?

photo 2


Germans are great at many things; football, economics, beer production, the list is practically endless. What Germans are profoundly bad at is sharing. Case in point: my bed. Sure they look the same, but these are two separate blankets. Why? That’s a perfectly reasonable question, which sadly I have yet to discover an answer. Perhaps when I can answer this question, I will receive a knock at the door and come face to face with a beaming Angela Merkel offering me the freedom of Germany and the all the wurst I can stuff into my gaping maw. Until that day comes I will have to settle for the fact that Germans are crap at sharing or that they are taking German logic to its most Aristotelian levels and frankly making me feel both colder and slightly stupider.

Stupid Pillow Sizes

photo 3

I could try and convince you that this large, unwieldy pillow is somehow an important cultural signifier and can tell you a great deal about Germany and Germans. It can’t. It’s just an unjustifiably large pillow and is therefore practically useless for sleeping on. They are everywhere in Germany, as if the normal pillows had somehow been genetically modified. Any sleeping apparatus that requires the skills of an origami samurai to render comfortable is not required in my home. Pillow, you’re stupid and I hate you.

Damn you floor, you tricked me!

photo 5

See this photo? This looks like a fashionable laminated floor, doesn’t it? Well it’s not, its bloody lino. This is enough for me to angrily smolder for the better part of two years, but that isn’t even the really annoying thing. What could possibly have annoyed me, you might ask? The fact that I didn’t notice for almost six months. I’m vaguely intelligent. I went to university. I once read War and Peace like a pretentious tool. And yet an inanimate piece of floor covering beat me in a battle of wits. Well played floor, well played.

My Shower Was Built for Bilbo Baggins

photo 4

Ok, so most of that list was phoned in. Damn right, I’m not having the best of days. My brain feels fuzzy, I keep having flashbacks that defy all measurements of embarrassment and I’m pretty sure my soul is broken. However, the worst insult is that this morning, and most mornings, I have to contort my 6’2 frame into this waiting liability claim. As funny an image as that might be to you, it frankly makes me want to fly to New Zealand and kick a hobbit in the teeth. But wait, it gets worse. Having performed athletic feats that Cirque du Solei would find admirable, I then go and brain myself on the ceiling as I unfold my way out. The only real upside to this shower/bath is that another month or so of this, my IQ will have dropped to such ignoramic levels I won’t be able remember what my name is. Or that people generally shower standing up. Or…or…I forget.

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