Festive cheer
Christmas approaches fast. Though generally more tasteful in their decorations, the rundown to the period of over consumption is reassuringly like home, with the same endless loops of Cliff Richard and the Pogues with Kirsty McCall playing in every arcade, and unconvincing Santas waylaying you outside department stores. The Christmas markets are just like the one in Manchester, except with more alcohol. On top of the ever present gluewein it seems that you can get a heated version of just about any known alcoholic drink. A favourite seems to be a hot caipirinha, but as I associate caipirinhas with sitting on a beach I can’t believe that this is quite right.
Had our work party in a bar hired specially for the occasion, complete with deaf and dumb bar staff. This didn’t make much difference to me, as I tend to order drinks by pointing at them anyway. My German is getting better though; this week I learned the expression ‘inner Schweinhund,’ which of course translates as ‘inner pigdog.’ Everybody has one, seemingly.
While doing a spot of Christmas shopping in Neukoln it occurred to me that there is some irony in the fact that the name Karl Marx Str. should be applied to a street which is one long strip of cut-price emporiums filled with plastic goods covered in badly glued-on glitter, made in the sweatshops of capitalism’s eastern colonies. I’m sure he is a-spinning in his grave.
In the background the economic depression here deepens. This week I walked past a factory on whose perimeter fence were tied old pairs of shoes. Next to each pair was a notice stating the name, years with the company and amount of dependent children of every worker who’s just been told they are to become arbeitslos. There were quite a lot of them.
But the real burning question in Berlin at the moment is whether or not the new White Trash is completely rubbish, and a sad sold out spectre of its former fabulously filthy underground self. Consensus seems to be that if the same cool crowd go who’ve always gone then it will stay cool, but that will be in spite of the similarity to a theme pub in Tunbridge Wells, rather than because of it. The burgers are still great, of course.
Had our work party in a bar hired specially for the occasion, complete with deaf and dumb bar staff. This didn’t make much difference to me, as I tend to order drinks by pointing at them anyway. My German is getting better though; this week I learned the expression ‘inner Schweinhund,’ which of course translates as ‘inner pigdog.’ Everybody has one, seemingly.
While doing a spot of Christmas shopping in Neukoln it occurred to me that there is some irony in the fact that the name Karl Marx Str. should be applied to a street which is one long strip of cut-price emporiums filled with plastic goods covered in badly glued-on glitter, made in the sweatshops of capitalism’s eastern colonies. I’m sure he is a-spinning in his grave.
In the background the economic depression here deepens. This week I walked past a factory on whose perimeter fence were tied old pairs of shoes. Next to each pair was a notice stating the name, years with the company and amount of dependent children of every worker who’s just been told they are to become arbeitslos. There were quite a lot of them.
But the real burning question in Berlin at the moment is whether or not the new White Trash is completely rubbish, and a sad sold out spectre of its former fabulously filthy underground self. Consensus seems to be that if the same cool crowd go who’ve always gone then it will stay cool, but that will be in spite of the similarity to a theme pub in Tunbridge Wells, rather than because of it. The burgers are still great, of course.
posted by Roisin at 4:36 pm
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