"Don't Mention The War"
I am writing this entry in Germany. If you don't know what I'm doing here, I'll get to that shortly. Last weekend was Toby's birthday bash giving me a chance to finally meet his uni friends. This included his girlfriend Katie and Doug who, for the past two years since he first misheard my name, has been convinced I am Priam, King of Troy. I was unable to shake the title. Between his amusing drunken outbursts I also talked politics with Emma who fully intends to become an MP — and has the energy that might well make it a reality.
On Tuesday Kirsten and I headed out to Germany, home for her and for me the daunting task of meeting the parents — in a new country and in a language I don't speak. It very nearly didn't happen. Having taken my passport in the airport for safekeeping, Kirsten proceeded send them through an X-Ray scanner and shortly afterwards discovered they were missing. As she became increasingly panicked I dragged her back through each of the duty free shops we had been to, fortunately discovering she had left them behind in FCUK. With our requisite disaster occuring early on, we could then relax and enjoy the rest of the journey.
My German is still very limited although being here has sped up the learning process a little. My broken attempts allow to me to communicate a little with her sister Nele and her mother. Rounding off the household, her dad does speak a little English but prefers not to. They've all been extremely welcoming and language has not been the barrier I feared. It simply means that most humour tends to be derived from physical comedy rather than the verbal wit I usually depend upon.
Sausagewatch: Jeff in the States has requested that I sample a variety of different sausages while here and report back with my opinions and recommendations. Accordingly the Sausagewatch feature will provide just this, introducing a new type of German sausage with each edition. First up is Bockwurst [bok-vorst] which I tried in a petrol station shortly after the train journey to Neustrelitz. One of the favourite snacks in Germany it is traditionally made from ground veal and pork (with more veal, unlike its more famous cousin "Bratwurst"). At first glance it looks much like the stereotypical American gas station hotdog sausages but is less greasy and slightly firmer, flavoured with chives and parsley.

But there is more to it than mere quirkiness. The ability to dip into games for a short session has been lost in the mire of overly complex gameplay mechanics that require an investment of several hours at a time. When paired with the frenzied brilliance of, say, Geometry Wars, the winner is clear despite the simplicity of shooting at coloured shapes (though because of the consoles raw power it manages effortlessly to look gorgeous too). Bungie described their job in Halo as finding 30 seconds of perfect gameplay and then repeating it in varied way throughout a game. That 30 seconds may involve complex tactical choices or a finely tuned physics engine. But it doesn't have to.
Over the weekend we had friends of the family over on Saturday followed by family for a birthday celebration on Sunday. Saturday's attendees included Uncle Kumar who is currently involved in organising a disabled trek across the Sahara in customised Land Rovers with hand controls (he has limited use of his legs). But then this is the man who, when asked about his Porche's top speed of 155mph, replied, "though I've only managed 148mph on the Autobahn so far." Meanwhile Sebastian can be seen fulfilling his ambitions as a rocket scientist. Or possibly a heavy ordnance engineer given his wild-eyed cries of "make it hit Daddy!" Kirsten was unimpressed when I tried to explain the physics of the air-propelled device to him, and then plain perplexed when he proceeded to describe it himself a few minutes later.
This morning I was contacted by the editors of the online magazine
During the day we were out of course, visiting first Notre Dame and the Louvre, then Disneyland Paris and finally the Arc de Triomphe. Notre Dame is an extremely impressive sight from the outside, and although the inside is perhaps more stunning with its high vaulting ceilings and use of light, there is something saddening about the fact it is so tourist-orientated that the intensely powerful religious presence it might otherwise exhibit is lost beneath the (arguably necessary) merchandising and camera flashes. The very idea that someone might use it as a Church seems almost odd.
America's influence upon one of the most classically European cities in the Continent cannot be denied. In a country famed for its fine cuisine, we ate at KFC on no less than two occasions (though I hasten to add we breakfasted traditionally and ate several good French steaks). And then there is Disneyland. A fun day out, I find much of its glossy veneer has cracked away in both the literal and metaphorical sense. Although the atmosphere remains the same, only the newer rides are as clean and fresh as they look through the eyes of an overexcited child; the others are fading fast. It was a fun day out but I fear the Disney thing may now have worn thin until I have children of my own to revitalise it all once more.
Little need be said of the Arc de Triomphe other than it offers a fine view of the city, arguably more so than the Eiffel Tower itself. It is perhaps ironic that such a proud structure be erected to the glory of the French military, now known better for
Browsing the rack a few days ago, the only magazine that stood out was 