Germanic Genes


I recently posted this Rowan Atkinson video on my Facebook page:

I am not sure what the whole angle about the New Europe is all about. I’m not really up to speed on politics. I don’t care to be either; so don’t bother filling me in.

Anyway, it got me cackling like a hen when it came to the ‘Vorsprung durch Technik’ bit. Bad timing. I was supposed to be putting Lilly to sleep, not watch YouTube clips. Unexpected mummy cackling caused big tired tears. Bad mummy.

It also got me thinking about all sorts of German stereotypes. And how mostly I don’t really meet them; which frequently begs the question whether I really am German, or just making that up. Personally, I gratefully blame twenty years of cross-pollination with other cultures.

I guess I might be guilty of pulling off the look, although the blonde is chemically enhanced. We’ve been through that.

Then there ’s things like punctuality and efficiency. I think I was born with an Italian gene when it comes to timekeeping. In my world, it seems that the closer you are to leaving the house, the faster time passes. All of a sudden, 15 minutes have flashed by when all you’ve really done is put on your shoes and grabbed your handbag. It’s baffling, really. If time flies, mine’s on the bloody Concorde.

I also have an acute dislike for rules, and being expected to follow them. I like to think of rules as guidelines. Optional guidelines. And I’ll never be accused of putting my towel on a beach chair at the crack of dawn. Never ever. That would require both advance planning and getting up early, not my most prominent character traits.

I am, however, proud to say that I can pronounce a ‘th’ and I’m convinced I have a sense of humour. Rob begs to differ. I polled him about what he feels is my most Germanic trait. He nominated socks and Birkenstocks. But only at home. Never in public. Besides, I hear that’s now become a catwalk trend so maybe I’m just ahead of the fashion game here.

And I will support the German football/soccer/whatever you wanna call it team. Passionately.

So forget the Olympics. Bring on Euro 2012!

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PS: This is the post for Jan 30. Honest. It was all written up before midnight. I just didn’t get to hit publish before the short one wanted attention. Something about food. I tried to fob her off on Daddy but she noticed.

But it still counts as yesterday’s post. We’re only 9½ hours into the next day so mathematically I still get to round down. Rob says it doesn’t work that way. I’m choosing to ignore that. Rules are guidelines. And they’re optional, remember?

So turn a blind eye and pretend it was there last night, would ‘ya? I had to make it up to Lilly about the cackling hen thing.

Good mummy.

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