Friday, 30th June 2006
Dear Germany,
I suspect you are a little tired of random folks addressing you of late, being that it’s the World Cup and all, but I’ve got no choice I’m afraid - where there’s a thought, there’s an outburst.
Firstly, to get things straight, I’m not going to batter your beleaguered ears about footie, so don’t you worry about that. This also isn’t an angry letter or an abusive one. It’s more along the lines of a love letter. Yes, you read me correctly, a love letter.
You’re probably a little shocked by that, aren’t you Germany? I’ve never said much that could be construed as kind about you, let alone imbued with the spirit of love. Maybe it’s all the Germans I have to read for school (what is your national obsession with religion about anyway?) but I seem to have come over all fond of you.
Usually, when I mention you, I talk about how I never want to step foot back in your country. I’ll moan on about how I visited you when I was 14, as a recently turned vegetarian, and how you kept trying to feed me still bloody meat at 8am. Actually, that still pisses me off, you bunch of fluffy animal slaughtering, never heard of a grill, bastids.
Anyway, as I said, the times they are a changing. My new flat-mate is a German-Swiss and frankly, I deeply love her in a purely superficial way already. During the couple of times we have met, we have talked about the differences between the German-Swiss and the English and she highlighted how reliable, honest, and straight up she and her fellow country-folk are. She also emphasised something especially close to my heart - how important it is to be true to your word; to not make false promises; to be truthful. She emphasised the one thing that has made me cull out so many shitheads from my life - that one’s actions must always be in accord with one’s words.
“My god,” thought I, “I’m fucking German! No wonder I don’t fit into this bloody country. How on earth did this manage to be so?” Suddenly, I remembered one of the myriad shitheads telling me that if I thought it was so important for people to say what they mean and to do what they say, then I should move to Germany. Perhaps he isn’t useless after all; perhaps he is wiser than I ever thought possible.
But wait, the plot thickens! On Thursday, my last day at the job, I had to do a handover with the new “me”. She was a extremely nice Thai woman and I felt great pains for her having to work with that bunch of shit-talking bitches. “Why are you so happy to be leaving the job?” she said on the tube on the way home. “People aren’t usually so happy to be leaving. Do you need to tell me something?” Oh, if only I could, dear sweet Thai lady, if only I could. Anyway, during the day she and I took a walk to the town hall to get some cheques signed and she told me how she hated England because people were full of shit and unreliable. How they talked one thing, but did another. She told me how her partner was German and she loved Germany and the Germans because they were trustworthy, reliable, honest, kind, and did what they said they would.
So I don’t know what to do Germany; I just don’t know what to do. Have you any mountains? Do you ever really get hot? I just looked at a map and the only part of you that’s on the sea is the northern part and I know it’ll be cold. I just can’t do it. Do you think it might be possible for you to trade places with Italy or Spain or Greece? Turkey or any of the Baltics will do too. We need to do something Germany, you dear, sweet, country of my dreams, we need to do something. Your personality and my personality are a match made in heaven, on time, with no fuss, in a perfectly neat package with a full labelling outlining every functional detail. And my how it’s accurate too!
I await your instruction and new locale.
Lots of love,
Ms Tank Green
xxx
Wednesday, 28th June 2006
I want my 62p back!
I just read this story from the BBC about how much the Royal family cost the British taxpayer every year - £37.4 million, which equates to 62p per person. It reminds me of one of the more poignant moments in my childhood when one of the Royals was visiting a posh private school near where I grew up (the RNS) and the Male Spawner suddenly flew into a fit of rage and decided he was going to drive around Shitesmear until he found the “fucking useless” Prince or Princess (can’t remember who it was now) and run her over. That sentiment kinda of stuck with me really.
Frankly I resent paying the upkeep of houses I can’t live in or even go to in their entirety. I resent paying the travel bills of millionaires. I resent giving my money to racist bigots (like father, like son). And I resent being represented by people who don’t actually do anything other than, well, be racist bigots. I resent that my citizenship of this country is associated with them. I resent that they represent me. I resent everything about them really.
I have absolutely no conclusion to this entry, other than I truly wish the monarchy was disbanded. They truly are worthless in my opinion. Now give me my 62p back!