By Skip Bandele
Before I ‘unwrap’ this month’s topic, here’s a brief epitaph to my last “Sauerkraut, cod and Brussel sprouts” xenophobic, anti-Merkel rant in January:
Although a comic novel about Adolf Hitler falling asleep in 1945 and waking up in Berlin in 2011, stoking the heated debate over rising neo-Nazism, disillusion with a failing currency and economic depression, has stormed to the top of the bestseller lists in Germany, our Teutonic cousins appear to loathe the idea of their eccentric neighbours exiting from the European menagerie.
The leading Bild tabloid published the following plea recently: “STOP! Dear Britons, please stay! You are so gloriously crazy! They (the Brits) mock us as ‘Krauts’. They show us on page one with steel helmets and Nazi badges – and their favourite word is ‘Blitzkrieg’. BUT- dear Britons, friends of mint sauce and driving on the left, we need you! We need your opposition, your stubbornness rather than a united Europe. And above all: we love your quirky Royals! Your punk! Your humour!”
Winston Churchill, Prince Charles, the Sex Pistols and Rowan Atkinson not to mention John Cleese’s infamous goose-stepping Fawlty Towers proprietor have a lot to answer for, but how can we resist these overtures?
To top it all, the feeling seems to be mutual as a different kind of Christmas amnesty has led to any lingering animosity being put to one side when it came to the choice of pudding during the past festive season – for the British have taken German Christmas treats to their hearts.
Last December Marks & Spencer sold over 320,000 Stollen (not stolen!) cake featuring candied fruit, nuts, spices and marzipan dusted with icing sugar. In addition, the high street retailers saw 40,000 boxes of Lebkuchen biscuits as well as various other authentic German treats such as marzipan lucky pigs – ‘Gluecksschweine’ – fly over the counter. What can I say?! All is forgiven Angela, my sweet, I am sure that underneath that posturing exterior holding the continent’s economies to ransom lurks a perfectly normal, loving human being.
But let me return to the ‘unwrapping’. As you are reading this page, I am just over one perilous and awfully short week away from turning into an adult – supposedly. My joyous and prolonged childhood spanning half a century is in danger of being terminated in eight days time from now.
I don’t own a suit or tie and I can feel panic welling up inside me at the thought of either. My ‘Algarve’ wardrobe consists of a large selection of garishly coloured Bermuda shorts to match an even wider range of Polo and t-shirts, adorned with uncouth slogans even I only feel comfortable admiring in the mirror when at least three sheets to the wind. Yes, as you will have guessed by now, I am careering towards an unwanted landmark, my 50th birthday.
A good friend was so kind as to have a dry run for my benefit last Monday – the party seemed to be going well and Lisa was still upright as we were leaving but worryingly I haven’t seen her since … anyway, they say it’s different for girls as my mother can testify.
Throughout my teens I remember her nonchalantly brushing off those significant dates and remaining stuck on the preceding odd number for the next 10 years at least – and mostly getting away with it, which I think she still does!
Back to Lisa’s do. Her daughter went to a lot of trouble putting on an extensive and constantly revolving slide show depicting every stage of the birthday girl’s life to date, through infancy to school, work, holidays, marriage and childbirth – it gave me the creeps!
Episodes of my life began flashing through my head, happy and carefree moments which are sure never to return, episodes I would rather forget, ecstasy and dismay. And I was wondering what the film of the coming years would look like, speculation which generally ended in less-than-wonderful scenarios despite the presence of Superbock-tinted glasses at that stage of the evening. I have a horror-scope in front of me which, contrary to my healthy scepticism towards all things not of this planet, hit the nail on the head:
“In the world of comedy and entertainment, there’s a long tradition of the lone, innocent, loveable figure, pitted against a dark, harsh world, armed only with his optimism and shielded only by naivety. But when we find ourselves playing such a role in daily life, it’s rarely so amusing. Yet this week, as Mars continues to pass through your sign, you should find that, even where your life has lately resembled a comedy of errors, you are about to find that somehow, you are going to end up getting the last laugh.”
Well, that just about sums me up and whoever made the above prediction better be bloody right or there will be trouble. No, I will not grow up. I have met enough people who were already adult before they had reached their 12th birthday, never mind the half-century mark, and others who waste their lives pretending to be ever-so-important while failing to understand how little they mean or contribute to the lives of others.
Sitting here in the bright and, for the moment at least, rare sunshine, I say life begins at 50! If what the majority state to be true in extensive social research is to be taken at face value, sex, relationships, wellbeing and the general state of happiness – not in any particular order – all improve dramatically once my particular milestone has been overcome. Bring it on!
But rest assured, one thing I will not be doing next Saturday night is belting out my unique version of Kenny Rogers’ Ruby, Don’t Take Your Love To Town over some bar microphone. So far this year 60 people have died during karaoke evenings in China, usually during brawls provoked by participants who feel a favourite song has been mangled by a rival singer. Even worse, in the Philippines Frank Sinatra’s My Way has been removed from karaoke play lists after out-of-tune renditions incited a number of murders. On that note I will be on my way – until next time.
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Skip Bandele moved to the Algarve 15 years ago and has been with the Algarve Resident since 2003. His writing reflects views and opinions formed while living in Africa, Germany and England as well as Portugal.
