luftharder

It’s all fucking happening isn’t it.

As I arrive back, a mate I met while travelling in Brazil, arrives. He’s been travelling the world for 10 solid months, and made South Africa his last stop.

So any lazing about on the couch, dreamily soaking up my holiday and walking around in my underpants, has been rapidly abolished.

Bless, he really is one of the nicest Germans on the planet.

As much as I’ve waxed lyrical about the Germans herein, it must be said, that flying Lufthansa with a plane fulla them for more than 10 hours, isn’t exactly a picnic in Stuttgart.

I was wedged, on my journey back, between two very rotund ones. I checked in late, so I got the seat in the middle, whereby just two clicks left or right, you’ll all but sitting in their laps.

Lufthansa, might I add, is also crap on a stick. You don’t get screens in your seats – it’s just one of those old school things that stick out of the roof that rotates crap movies all night long.

And my iPod had died. Therefore, I thought I would die. I don’t do planes without earphones in my ear – and again, here is an example of why. (Why does this shit happen to me? Why?)

The lady sitting in front of the rotund bratwurster next to me, reclined her seat back. As one does. So bratwurster – in all his 60-year old glory – goes and kicks – no shoves – her seat back with his knee.

Irate German woman gets pissed off, turns around and barrels off a whole lot of German obscenities at him. The husband then jumps on the bandwagon and screams, Why did you just kick my wife’s seat in?

Bratwurster says he didn’t.

Whaaaaaaat?? screams the husband. By now, I’m cringing. This isn’t entertainment, this is hell. Italians screaming at each other is amusing. Germans screaming at each other is terrifying.

Next thing, the air hostess is called, and a full on barney is going on right amidst my face, over the fact that some guy kicked some frau’s seat.

‘Are you people fucking serious?’ That’s what I want to say, except that I might be lynched and/or screamed at in the muzzer tongue.

Air hostess calls for back up. Soon, and I’m not fucking joking, there’s a group – a small crowd – of irate people standing around our seats yelling at each other about reclining seats and large kneecaps.

Then, three rows down, some woman couldn’t fit her bag into the overhead compartment. So had a shit fit with the air hostess because she couldn’t leave it just chilling in the aisle.

Anyway. Moral is, my German friend is chilled – possibly because he’s been to, like, every country on Earth and has internationalised himself.

He also bought me Jaeger from Germany which we proceeded to drink last night and now I feel like death on a stick.