Dear Friends of German Comedy,
I’ve got to hurry up writing this month’s newsletter. After all there’s hardly any March left. And even less down here in Australia.
After a few days in Melbourne I have decided I should hurry up a bit more in life in general, not least when it comes to exercising.
Go to any public swimming pool in Britain or Germany and most people will be there on doctor’s orders with some Twix hanging out their mouths and the threat of expulsion from the Allgemeine Ortskrankenkasse hanging over their heads.
Ten minutes of sitting in the shallow end, blowing one’s cheeks in and out for no purpose at all trying to look an athlete is usually followed by at most two lengths in the 25 meter pool, and then some spitting and who-knows-what-else in the water. Leni Riefenstahl it’s not.
The experience at the local Prahran pool next to my venue here in Melbourne couldn’t be more different. Everyone but me knows how to swim really, really elegantly and fast and for miles.
The whole experience made me incredibly self-conscious. Now that Herr Kuhnle isn’t here to give me a run for the money, I am by far the most out-of-shape person in the pool; if not the whole local area.
There I was, by the poolside – with my Central European pot belly, pale complexion, and ever so slightly bloated cheeks indicative of a CAMRA membership card. But not the fully-fledged alcoholic’s face that usually goes with wearing a football top.
Anyway, I felt sufficiently out of place to unfurl a Tooting & Mitcham FC emblazoned St George flag by the poolside and give a rendition of Rule Britannia, so to tarnish Britain’s reputation rather than Germany’s.
Obviously no-one watched or listened as they were all too busy thundering up and down those swimming lanes.
Back home local authorities at least have got the decency of making one feel better about oneself by putting some freakish looking creature in the pool’s shop in the foyer selling ice-creams, chips and Coca-Cola.
Down here one is not even given that little bit of consolation – the shop is staffed by some model selling peaches, pears and fruit cocktails. And not a burger in sight.
Homemade burgers, however, will be available (that’s seamless, that is!) at my preview run at the Betsey Trotwood in Farringdon from May 9-14.
The new show is now finally called No Surrender, following last month’s vote in which No Surrender got 4 votes compared to Scheissenromp’s 3. Verdict: neither title managed to capture the imagination…..
Bloody hell, this is one massive bulletin. But at least it’s very light on jokes.
Have a great month – I’m off watching some aerobics DVD – saves me doing any actual exercise